


If I Followed You Home

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Typical Violence, Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, New York City, Panic Attacks, Protective Derek, Sassy Cora, Sterek Big Bang, actual wolf werewolves, community: sterek_big_bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is living on his own in New York when he sees the unthinkable: one woman pushes another onto the tracks just before a subway comes. With Scott not moving in for several days, he is on his own with his grief and horror, and he decides to find closure by attending the dead woman’s funeral where he discovers that (1) the guy he’s been crushing on is the dead woman’s brother, and (2) her family somewhat adopts him, and (3) the woman who killed her might just want to kill him now. Life just got <i>complicated</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Followed You Home

**Author's Note:**

> I am SO EXCITED to finally get to share this. This story wanted OUT of my brain as soon as I had the idea, and I am thankful to the sterek_big_bang for inspiring me, and to _dreamingindigital_ on tumblr for leaving me a prompt on tumblr when I was brainstorming. I think this took a severe left turn from where it started, but I am in love with this.
> 
> And that ART. Go look, dudes! If you're still early morning, it may still be locked, but it will be unlocked soon, and it's lovely. My artist is [kenshymidzu](http://kenshymidzu.livejournal.com/), and please leave love on the master post which you can find [here](http://kenshymidzu.livejournal.com/1444.html). Seriously, go check it out and leave love now, I'll wait. Done? Yay!
> 
> As always, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, but I do love to play with them. I hope you enjoy what I've done.

It begins, as far as Stiles is concerned, in the subway station one block from his office.

He doesn’t even normally take this particular train, but tonight he needs to go pick something up, and no one owns a car in the city—not that he could afford to park it anyway—so he heads down into the station, half an eye on Candy Crush Saga on his phone, and the rest of his attention making sure no one bumps into him in suspicious ways.

He finds a spot to stand and plants his feet just a shade wider than his shoulders. It’s a little awkward, but standing large gives him more personal space; people are less likely to crowd in. His thumb moves over the screen—he hates chocolate levels—as he idly watches the people around him.

At first, he almost doesn’t notice her. There are a hundred people around him (okay, maybe thirty, it’s not really all that busy yet) and she’s just another well-dressed woman in the crowd. But she glances over and her eyes are just so damned _blue_ and they remind him of something. Stiles is staring at her, puzzled, trying to think what that _thing_ is, when he sees another woman approach.

The second woman touches the shoulder of the first, then touches her face. There is a soft cloud of something that Stiles thinks later he must have imagined, and the woman with the blue eyes crumples, falling in slow motion over the edge and onto the tracks.

Life speeds up then, in a cacophony of noise as the train tries to brake, people scream, and the second woman disappears as if she never existed.

Stiles hears the crunch, the sickening thud, then he is free to move again, darting to the edge.

She is dead before he gets there, ripped apart by the sharp wheels of the train. He sits back quickly, hand pressed to his mouth. In the distance, he hears people retching, hears shouts and screams.

It’s horrible.

When he closes his eyes, the heels of his hands pressed hard against the lids, he sees her fall again, sees that woman disappear. He tries to memorize her face, but he realizes he never quite saw it. She was turned away from him, and all he caught was a sharp chin and brown curls; for all he knows that could have been a wig.

He never saw the one woman push the other, but he’s sure that’s what happened.

This was pre-meditated.

He can hear his father’s voice in his mind, gently chiding him for seeing a conspiracy that isn’t there. By the time the police arrive, he has almost talked himself out of saying anything about the woman because no one else remembers her.

She just collapsed, they all say.

One moment she was fine, the next she was lying on the tracks, just as the car came around the corner.

It must have been drugs.

Maybe a heart attack.

Stiles wonders if they can even get enough from her to do testing. If they’ll bother, or if they’ll chalk it up to a horrible accident. Someone must be out there who loves her enough to need to know the truth.

He waits his turn and when it comes, he parrots the same thing everyone else has said. He mentions that he did see her speaking to another woman, and the officer duly notes it, but Stiles is positive that piece of data will be thrown out.

He’s the only one who saw her, and if no one corroborates his story, it will be discarded as a mistaken memory. No witnesses means it never happened.

The brown-haired woman is going to get away with murder.

When he is finally released, Stiles quickly goes to his usual station and usual train and goes straight home. His errand can wait. Right now, puking and getting his mind off things are the top priorities.

#

Unsurprisingly, Stiles sleeps like crap. He wakes feeling like he spent the night running a marathon, his mind still filled with images from the afternoon before. He scans the news sites over breakfast, fingers flying over the laptop keyboard in between bites of cereal.

Nothing.

How the hell can there be absolutely _nothing_ about the accident?

He gets up to pour himself another cup of coffee—he hates his own coffee, but it’s cheaper than Starbucks and until Scott gets here, Stiles can’t afford to spend more than he absolutely has to. By the time he finishes that, he’s finally found the article.

_Body on the tracks halts commuter traffic._

A body? She was alive when she went over the edge, Stiles is sure of it. He skims the article and picks out the salient points. Her name was Laura Hale, and she left only a few survivors: a brother, a sister, and an uncle. She had just turned thirty in June. And according to first findings, she was dead before she hit the track. Massive heart attack due to unknown causes.

Stiles pushes the computer away. It doesn’t add up. It doesn’t make _sense_. If it were his father investigating, Stiles would be all over the evidence, sticking his nose in like he always did and trying to help. But he’s not a cop here in NYC. He doesn’t even know any cops. He’d thought about it, once, going into forensics or criminal psychology. He’d gotten as far as two semesters down that path before his life was sideswiped by a chance to work at a museum over the summer, and once he got started there, he never looked back.

He spent one summer working for an art museum, and the next summer and then the Christmas break working at the natural history museum. The summer right before his senior year he started work on his thesis early by redesigning how they catalogued and curated their inventory, and helping set up a new schedule to allow more archival items to be displayed and the collection rotated on a regular basis.

They loved him, and when he wanted to get a new job on the other side of the country, they reluctantly gave him a glowing recommendation. Which is how Stiles ended up in New York, the new children’s programming assistant director, trying to help _create_ a children’s program at the museum. Well, it’s been created, but it’s languishing and boring and no children actually go to it. Stiles will fix that, he knows he will, but it’s going to take him more than a few months.

And that means he doesn’t have time, or money, or any way to even _start_ looking into the strange death of a woman he doesn’t even know.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t mean he can forget about it.

As soon as he sets foot in the subway station, he feels his lungs go tight. There’s nothing there, no space, no air, _nothing_. He wheezes, sucking in the grey, damp air of the station, the scent mixed with sweat and stale urine, and he tries desperately to fill his chest. Oxygen. Just one breath, that’s all it will take and he can ease the panic.

Because that’s all it is, panic making his palms sweat and his heart beat rabbit fast in his chest until it _hurts_. He clenches his fists tightly and leans back against the wall, head tilted, the tile cold and hard behind him. Eyes closed, he struggles, hearing the air whistle as he draws it in.

Someone puts a hand on his shoulder, thick and heavy and hot even through the thin fabric of Stiles’s t-shirt. “Breathe,” a voice orders, and Stiles _does_.

He sucks in the air and holds it until he can’t anymore, letting it go with a cough that shakes his entire body. Another breath in, and out more slowly this time, shuddering and deep.

The hand pats his shoulder and Stiles’s eyes fly open. “Thank—”

There’s no one there to thank. The crowd mills past him, unseeing in the way that New Yorkers always seem to be. Whoever it was that stopped—actually _stopped_ to help a stranger in a subway station—is gone, swallowed up by the crowd. People surge forward as a train arrives and Stiles can’t move yet, his back seeming glued to the wall, fists still clenched. He watches as they shove their way into the cars, pushing and shifting until they all find their spaces and the doors close, keeping them safe.

“I can’t believe I got on one of those things last night,” Stiles mutters to himself, then shakes his head as a woman gives him a dirty look. “Fuck.” He pushes his hands through his hair. “I can’t start talking to myself. I can’t afford a therapist.” He offers a weak smile to the next woman passing by, and he taps his ear as if there is a bluetooth headset somehow hidden just out of view. Not that his hair is long enough to hide one; she’ll believe the lie because it’s better than thinking he’s a madman. That’s how people work, after all. Believe the lie, as long as it’s prettier than the truth.

The next breath comes easier, and he manages to find a small space to claim for himself where he stands, shifting from foot to foot, anxious for the train to arrive. His gaze skitters over the people in the station. It isn’t even the _same_ station, but he can’t help it, half looking for the woman he saw the night before. Not that she’d be here. He can’t think that she goes around to random subway stations, looking for people to push under the cars.

Unless she does. Maybe she’s some kind of crazed serial killer who gets off on giving people heart attacks and watching them be torn to ribbons or electrocuted on the third rail.

Stiles groans and lets his head fall into his hands. He needs more sleep and less nightmares. He needs less imagination. He needs some kind of an anchor here in NYC to help keep him sane.

But he doesn’t have any of those. He’s on his own, and this is the best he can do.

He looks up again and spots several people looking at him. Business men. Women in suits, and one woman in a seventies style pantsuit with purple-grey hair and a kindly smile. A child who holds his mother’s hand and stares frankly at Stiles, blinking when Stiles smiles back.

They’re just people, Stiles reminds himself. And none of them are killers.

He lets the crowd carry him over the step and into the subway car when it pulls up and the doors open. He finds a place to stand, directing the purple-haired woman to sit in the last available seat. He grips the rail overhead and closes his eyes, giving himself to the peaceful sway of the train upon the tracks.

He tries not to think about what it must have felt like to pull into that station and strike the body.

Not the _body_. Laura Hale.

He tries not to think about what it would be like to be the one to bring death, and he fails.

When he arrives at his station, he lets the crowd carry him out again and he refuses to look back at the train and the track. He’s going to have to figure out some way to get back down here after work to go home.

Maybe he’ll splurge on a cab.

#

Lunch finds Stiles sitting in the park near the museum, both feet up on the bench, managing to radiate the image of someone much larger than his lanky frame actually is. It works, and no one joins him and he’s able to eat in peace, making quick work of his peanut butter sandwich and the curly fries he splurged on from the _Spuds & More_ truck around the corner. He has a bottle of water, and he knows he should be better about reusing, but he simply finishes it off and tosses it into one of the recycling bins. The homeless dudes will go through it later, looking for returnables, and Stiles figures that’s a better use of his nickel rather than him carrying it around just to bring it back to the office later.

Besides. He needs to get rid of some of this excess energy. His entire morning has been unsettled and frustrating, and he hasn’t been able to focus well on his scheduling. He stands up, hopping in place a little, letting his legs and arms relax as he shakes them out. He does a little stretching before he starts to lope on the path around the park.

Stiles ran in high school; it was a requirement for lacrosse, and being Scott’s best friend meant he had to _play_ lacrosse. Or rather, he had to attend practices and sit on the bench, and watch the popular (and athletic) guys play lacrosse while Stiles and Scott cheered loudly for their teammates.

In three years on the team, Stiles perfected the art of bench-warming and only got on the field during an actual game once. He never scored, never even handled the ball in the game. But he got good at running, and was halfway decent while doing the required off-season cross-country stint.

What he learned was that running settled his mind. Better than the Adderall, better than anything else he’d found for his ADHD, running _helped_.

He keeps running gear in his office now, and regularly gets changed at lunch and goes out to pound the pavement, letting his feet roll along as he falls into the rhythm and stride. When the sharp, bright ring of his phone interrupts his favorite running mix, he answers with a soft huff. “Yeah?”

“Five days, Stiles.” Scott’s voice is a bright counterpoint to Stiles’s mood. “I’m flying out Tuesday, so you’d better make sure you’ve cleaned your things out of my room.” He hesitates. “Do you mind if Isaac comes out the weekend after that? He doesn’t have any exams yet, and it’s either that or I drive up to Tufts, but he wants to see the new place.”

“Yeah, sure, what’s one more person in a claustrophobically small city apartment?” Stiles shrugs while he runs, huffing on each step. “I’ll clear out. Make sure you two have the place to yourselves. I… I’ll find something to do.”

“Stiles, no. Look, we’ll talk about it. It doesn’t have to happen.”

“You haven’t seen him in a few months, since he moved to Boston.” Stiles gets that, he really does. It makes sense in his head, because if he’d been dating someone for years the way Scott and Isaac have been together, he’d be going nuts after just a week. But at the same time, the apartment he scored for himself and Scott is pretty small, and the idea of _listening_ to them just makes Stiles feel even more lonely than usual.

“Stiles?”

“Hm?” He focuses on his feet and tries to tune back in to the sound of Scott’s voice.

“You went silent there. Everything okay?”

No, everything’s not okay, but really, how can Stiles explain that he saw someone die in front of him the other day? He gets the feeling that Scott’s reaction would be fascination and awe rather than the horror that Stiles still feels. He bites his lip. “Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just… it’s weird here, and I don’t know anyone. It’ll be good when you’re here.”

“We’ll go out! You have to show me the night life. We’ll meet people, find our niche, and have a great time. _Five days_ , Stiles. Are you picking me up Tuesday night?”

Stiles can’t burst his bubble. Scott just sounds so excited and Stiles doesn’t want to break in with reality. Besides, before last night, Stiles loved the city, and he’s been looking forward to showing his new home to Scott. Sure, it’s a little lonely sometimes, but… it’s a good place to be. “Yeah, late Tuesday. I’ll be there, and just be ready to take the subway back to the apartment. I’d miss my Jeep if the driving and parking weren’t so terrible here.”

“I’m shipping my bike. And we’ll buy you one. Best way to get around someplace like New York, and it’s good for the environment.”

“Watch out.”

Stiles stumbles as he tries to twist out of the way when someone calls out behind him. The man runs past, feet striking the ground hard, expression set and hard to match the growled words.

“Hey, man, you okay?” Scott’s still talking in his ear. “Was that someone else, dude?”

“Yeah, it was _the guy_.” Stiles stands there, trying to get his balance, watching the guy’s ass. And it’s a _nice_ ass. Stiles has looked at it before, checking out how perfectly it moves in those spandex running shorts. The guy’s serious about his lunchtime run, but he’s usually not so… determined. Stiles takes off again at an easy lope, but unless he seriously goes for more speed, he’s not going to catch up. “I mean, the guy I told you about. Jogging dude.”

Scott laughs. “Just screw up your courage and talk to him. Maybe you can make a friend.”

Stiles can imagine the expression, the sweet, lopsided smile that’s teasing him, poking him to just go for it already. He shrugs. “There’s stuff going on right now, Scott, and that guy was in a seriously bad mood. I’m pretty sure that some skinny kid hitting on him wouldn’t actually help right now.”

“Offer him coffee,” Scott says.

“And if he’s offended? I really don’t feel like getting beaten up, Scott. You do want a roommate to help you with the rent, right?” Not that Stiles has any idea if the guy is gay, bi, straight or somewhere in between. He has never seen this guy doing anything but run in the park over his lunch break. He couldn’t even say what the guy does for a job, other than that it’s definitely not working in the museum.

Because yeah, Stiles checked.

“You can’t just do nothing there for the rest of your life,” Scott says. “Take a chance, Stiles.”

He rolls his eyes, letting the rhythm find his feet again. “I am not going to just walk up to some guy and ask him to go out for coffee.”

“Then ask him to run with you. Wait a second.” Scott’s voice goes muffled, and Stiles can hear Melissa McCall in the background before Scott returns. “I promised Mom I’d help her out with something before I leave, so I’ve got to go.”

“Yeah, sure, go. Tell your mom I said hi, and that I’ll make sure you send a check home every month.”

Scott laughs before he hangs up, and the music starts up again in Stiles’s ears, drowning out the noise of the park. He lets himself go, losing himself in the feel of his feet against the pavement. He doesn’t have much longer before he has to go back inside, get changed, go back to work. But he needs to get rid of the lingering feelings that the conversation has left him with, on top of the memory of the _body_.

Laura Hale.

There was a _body_ on the _tracks_.

His feet find the cadence of the words, and they repeat in his mind until he can’t hear anything else. Not the music, not the people, not the cars honking on the nearby road.

Just the _body_ on the _tracks_ , over and over again.

“Hey!”

The world spins back into view just in time for Stiles to flail out, arms windmilling as he tries to stop before tripping over a guy that’s crouched off to the side, tying his shoe. Stiles has strayed from the path and oh _hell_. He backpedals and trips, landing on his own ass. “Shit.”

“You should watch where you’re going.” The guy finishes tying off his shoe and looks up and oh _shit_ , it’s _the_ guy. And he looks pissed off. When he stands, he’s probably about the same height as Stiles, but broader through the shoulders. His dark hair has a hint of sweat in it, the scruff on his jaw thick, that same jaw tight and tense. “There are other people on this path.”

“Yeah, I know, I’ve seen you running before,” Stiles manages to say, scrubbing a hand through his hair. This is _not_ how this conversation is supposed to go. Not that he’s planned this conversation, or considered the possibility (many times) of actually having this conversation. “Sorry, I’ve got something on my mind.”

The guy makes a noise that could be a laugh, if it didn’t sound like he was swallowing it, lips pressed together. “The rest of us manage to focus on where we’re going, no matter what’s going on in our heads. You should try it.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Stiles says dryly. He pushes himself to his feet, and yeah, same height. “It’s not like I don’t run this same path as you every damned day and never bumped into you before. Can’t we just write this one off as a bad day and let it go?”

There is almost a flicker of a smile in response, before it is chased away. The light catches his eyes as he turns, and they flash a bright blue that is gone as quickly as Stiles blinks. “Sure. Bad day,” the guy says.

He’s off and running before Stiles can manage to say another word. Running like the demons of hell are chasing him.

“Maybe it’s just time to give this up as a bad idea,” Stiles mutters, and he’s not sure whether he’s talking about the run or the guy. Maybe both.

He wipes the dirt off his ass and brushes his hands clean, then heads for the museum. The real world beckons, and Stiles will try to get lost in that for now.

#

Stiles doesn’t wake up Saturday morning thinking _let’s go to a funeral_ , except that yeah, he sort of does.

Maybe it’ll get the words out of his head and let him settle down. And maybe it’s just the right thing to do. He was there at the end, and he feels like he ought to say goodbye or something. Apologize maybe, for not being able to do more about finding the woman who murdered her.

No matter how many times they say it’s an accident, Stiles is still sure that it’s murder. He wishes he had better artistic talent so he could draw the woman he saw, maybe take that to the cops since they don’t seem to really be interested in her at all.

At least it doesn’t seem to have happened again, although Stiles supposes that she might not always throw people in front of speeding trains. Maybe everyone else she kills is caught in the hospital, or at their desk at work.

Or maybe he just happened to look up at the right moment to see the angel of death arrive to steal her soul at the moment when Laura Hale died.

Hah. No. Life doesn’t work like that. Stiles may love his fantastic stories and movies, but he’s well aware of where the line between fantasy and reality lies, and he stands on the reality side of it. There are no angels, no demons, no reapers, no vampires, no fairies. Whoever that brown-haired woman was, she was _real_.

Still. The funeral might bring closure, so he checks the paper online again and makes note of where the graveside service will be, then decides that it’s not so far away that he can’t walk if he starts out soon. He finds his best black jeans, and a black blazer that he holds folded over his arm as he walks, his black t-shirt more than comfortable enough in the warmth of early fall.

It’s tempting to run; walking doesn’t have the same cadence to calm his thoughts. But he doesn’t give in to the impulse, setting a quick pace and threading his way through Saturday morning crowds on the sidewalk. All he has to do is be there. See the coffin. Say something after everyone else leaves. No one will even notice that he is there.

He’s wrong, of course.

There are only three people standing by the grave: an older guy, a woman Stiles guesses might be right about his own age, and a guy he recognizes.

Not just _a_ guy. _The_ guy.

Shit.

This was a complete mistake.

The woman notices him first, her nostrils flaring as her head lifts, then she unerringly turns to spot him. She tilts her head, gaze narrowing as she reaches for the man beside her. In moments, they are all looking at him, and the guy… _the guy_ … is glaring at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Stiles has no idea how they all get there so fast, standing in front of him, blocking his route to graveside. “I…”

“What are you doing at my sister’s funeral?”

“Derek.” The girl has her hand on Derek’s arm. “Calm down. Maybe he knew Laura.”

“He doesn’t know Laura,” Derek snarls. “He’s just this guy who—”

Stiles flushes brightly because he has a horrible feeling that he’s been _noticed_ and that the next words are _this guy who stalks me at lunch_. “Actually,” he manages to say, “I’m Stiles Stilinski and I was there when your sister died. I just… I wanted to get some closure.”

“ _You_ need closure?” The guy—Derek—steps closer, right in Stiles’s face.

“Derek!” The girl grabs his wrist again and she looks familiar. It’s the eyes, Stiles thinks. Maybe he should have recognized them when he saw Laura Hale, because this girl and Derek have the same eyes. Light eyes, maybe hazel, but they seem to flash blue in different light. That’s what seemed so familiar about Laura that day, it’s just taken him until now to realize it.

The girl smiles slightly. “Derek’s being rude, but he’s mourning, so you can forgive him, right? I’m Cora, his sister, and this is our Uncle Peter. It’s nice to meet you, Stiles, although it would have been nicer under other circumstances, I think.”

“Probably, yeah.” Stiles sticks his hand out, and Derek’s closest but he doesn’t take it. Instead Cora manages to worm her way between them and pull Stiles into a fierce hug, fingers digging into his shoulders as she squeezes him. It’s such a surprise that he squeezes her back, holding on when he feels her hiccup.

Derek grunts, but says nothing.

Stiles feels a shiver, and a burst of tears against his shoulder; he awkwardly stands there, patting Cora’s back while she cries. He can feel the stares of both men, but he doesn’t look at either of them, just does his damnedest to comfort the crying girl in his arms.

When she finally steps back away from him with a small, weak smile, he tries to give one in return.

He doesn’t belong here, he can see that now. But still… “Would you mind if I talked to her?” He gestures at the grave. “Laura, I mean. I just… like I said, I was there. And I couldn’t do anything, before or after, and I feel bad about that.”

He waits for them to give him permission, and he’s almost surprised when Derek finally nods. Stiles walks slowly to the graveside—apparently he missed the actual funeral and the casket has already been lowered and is just waiting to be covered—and he sinks to his knees by the edge. He takes up a handful of dirt and tosses it in, watching the grains scatter.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “I know we don’t know each other, but I’m betting right now you may have heard of me as the annoying guy who follows your brother when he’s running at lunch. For which I’m sorry if he’s been talking your ear off complaining. He seems much more interesting when he’s not snapping my head off, but I bet he’s a nice guy when he’s not grieving. Anyway. That’s not why I’m here.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and bows his head. “I was there. When you died, I was there, and I saw it happen, and I know you didn’t have some kind of a heart attack and just fall. I saw the woman and I don’t know who she is, but I’ll try to make sure they find her. I don’t think the police believed me, because no one else mentioned her. And I kind of figure that either she’s some random weirdo serial killer, or you knew her, because I don’t remember seeing you afraid of her. And no, I’m not going to tell your siblings or your uncle, because they’d probably think I’m just as nuts. The funny thing is, if I were home, I’d have an in. My dad’s the sheriff back in Beacon Hills, and sometimes he listens to me. Okay, so maybe it’s not often, but he knows I’m good at seeing patterns. And I’m looking for patterns because I know you shouldn’t have died then. And like I said, I’m sorry, and even though it’s too little, too late, I’m trying to make things better. So yeah, that’s where we stand. I guess I’m avenging you.”

He closes his eyes, but he can’t imagine her response because he never actually knew her, just like he’d never heard the guy’s voice before he fell over him in the park. 

It doesn’t give him as much closure as he’d hoped.

He slowly pushes himself to his feet and dashes tears away from his eyes because he’s crying for this woman he didn’t even know. “It’s not much, but I’ll try,” he says quietly.

The three Hales are still standing there, talking softly enough that he can’t hear them, when he turns back. They stop almost immediately. Derek glares, and Cora smiles gently. Peter simply quirks one eyebrow and watches him, as if he’s some kind of fascinating bug under a microscope. It makes Stiles uncomfortable.

“Do you live in the city?” Cora catches his arm as soon as he draws close. “And did you drive all the way out here?”

It’s not all that far out, but it’ll be a long walk back and the day is heating up, and no way is Stiles setting foot in a subway right now. He nods first, then shakes his head. “Walked, but there’s a stand nearby, and I’ll just walk down and catch a cab back.”

“No, you won’t.” Cora has a tight grip on his arm and Stiles finds himself walking along with her before he realizes it, pushed in the direction of a sleek black town car. “We’ve got a car and a driver and you can come have lunch with us, then we’ll have you dropped off.”

“No,” Derek says.

“It’s just lunch,” Cora points out. “Uncle Peter?”

The man spreads his hands. “Who am I to fight a force of nature? Derek, if this is what Cora wants, you’ll only damage yourself if you fight her. We all grieve in our own way. Perhaps hers is to collect a new puppy.”

“I’m not a puppy,” Stiles protests. “Or a pet.”

“You’re probably not even his type.”

Stiles almost doesn’t hear the words, Derek speaks so quietly, but it’s obvious Cora does from the sharp look she gives her brother.

“It’s not about that,” she retorts. “He’s not a pet, and he’s not a pick up. He’s a guy who was there _when Laura died_.” She makes those three words sound significant, as significant as they are in Stiles’s own mind, and he suddenly _likes_ her for that alone. “So he’s coming to lunch with us, and we’ll make sure he gets home safely.”

Wait. What? Why wouldn’t he be safe? He blinks, but Cora’s expression is bright and sunny as she tugs him towards the car again. Stiles goes along without protest because he’s not sure he could stop her if he tried. By the time they are settled in the car—Derek and Peter on one seat, facing Cora and Stiles on the other—he’s starting to relax. It’s just lunch. And maybe getting to know these people that Laura Hale left behind will help him find that closure.

As long as he tries not to think about the fact that Derek Hale is _the guy_ and he’s yeah… finally going out to eat with him. Maybe even have coffee. It’s just not how he’d ever imagined it would happen.

#

“No, seriously, the dude from the park is the dead woman’s brother.” Stiles has his headset on and he’s chatting while he and Scott game online the next day. He fires at zombies automatically, not bothering to coordinate with Scott. _That_ they have down to a science after years of gaming together. _That_ is easy. But murder and hot guys? Those need conversation.

“His name’s Derek Hale.” Stiles pauses, tongue caught firmly between his teeth as he moves, changing the viewpoint on his screen and catching a zombie before it sneaks up behind Scott’s avatar. “Dude, watch your back.”

The avatar on the screen turns towards him briefly before they start moving down the hall again. “Did you say Hale?” Scott asks. “You mean like the old Hale house, out in the Preserve?”

“The old what now?” Stiles hits the button for crouch and waits for zombies to pop up before he starts firing. “What are you talking about?”

“The old burnt house on the edge of town,” Scott says. “The one that Isaac dared me to go into. He said it belonged to this family named Hale years ago, but that it burnt down back when he was like, ten or something. Before I moved to town.”

“It’s a coincidence, Scott.”

“Sure, like your hot crush being the dead woman’s brother is a coincidence. How was lunch?”

“Awkward.” And Stiles sighs inwardly because as first not-dates go, it was pretty horrible. They’d gone to this diner, and Stiles and Cora sat on one bench in the booth with Derek and Peter on the other, and the entire time Stiles kept bumping Derek’s leg under the table (by _accident_ ), and Derek kept jerking it out of the way and giving him dark looks. “I think he thinks I’m stalking him. And it’s not like I could say _oh hey, I think I saw this woman who might have killed your sister_ because that would have just cemented the idea that I’m completely nuts. So Derek glared at me, and Peter creeps me out because he looks at me like he could see through me. Cora’s nice, though. She stole my phone and gave me her number. Maybe I should just stalk her instead.”

“You aren’t actually stalking him, are you?”

“Dude! You know me better than that.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Okay, so maybe Stiles can’t argue that point. He does have something of a history of obsession. “We just happen to run in the same park, and if I like the view from behind him, he can’t blame me. And I haven’t managed any more than that, and I don’t even know where he lives, and I haven’t tried to find out. It has _not_ tipped over the edge into stalking. On the other hand, _they_ know where I live now, and like I said, Cora gave me her number and took mine. So I’m pretty sure that we may be swapping roles. Sort of.”

It’s complicated.

The funny thing, though, is that when Stiles thinks about it, his life is suddenly intertwined with the lives of the Hale family. It’s like Laura’s death was a catalyst that broke down the wall between him and the guy he’s been watching, in a not-so-helpful way.

It’s also funny how just as he thinks that, his phone buzzes and he sees Cora’s face pop up on it along with a text.

_Movie tonight. My treat._

“And Cora has just asked me out.” Stiles sighs. “Or ordered me to go out with her, which might be more accurate.”

“Are you going?” The shooting stops and the avatars in the game look at each other as they put up their guns. “Stiles, you should go. Get out. I mean, it’s not like you don’t like girls, too.”

Stiles laughs. “True.” He picks up his phone and texts back: _When and where?_ He doesn’t care what movie they see, and he really does want to get out of the apartment. “I’m going. Which means I should get some dinner soon.”

“Don’t have too much fun.” Scott laughs, and Stiles rolls his eyes even though he knows his best friend can’t see him. “Remember, it’s a weeknight.”

“I’m not planning on inviting her over and staying up all night,” Stiles says dryly. “I just met her. And besides…” He leaves the thought unsaid: but really, he still has a thing for her brother. Cora’s nice. Maybe a bit of a force of nature, but nice. But she’s not _the guy_. She’s not Derek, and she just doesn’t have the same pull for Stiles that Derek does.

A pull that he obviously needs to ignore since Derek doesn’t seem to have any interest in _him_. But that’s okay. If there’s anything Stiles knows how to do, it’s forgetting unrequited crushes. He’s had plenty of practice with that, between Lydia in high school, and the equally memorable Sean in college. He can get over this one, too.

He signs out of the game. “I’ll talk to you later, Scott. And yes, Tuesday. I haven’t forgotten.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Stiles glances around the apartment as the headset clicks off. Maybe he should clean up a bit. Just in case. Well, and Scott’s coming in soon and might not want to live in a pit of disaster. He takes a deep breath and starts with the living room. This might take a little bit of work.

#

“Are you from California?”

They’re walking arm in arm down the street towards Stiles’s building after the movie. He’d taken a cab to the theater, but she somehow managed to get him back on the subway to come home and he barely remembers the trip. He wants to ask how Cora can do it, but she wasn’t _there_ , so the stations and trains probably don’t hold the same strange memories for her. Or if they do, they aren’t as visceral. Still, she stood close to him during the entire trip, her hand smoothing over his arm as if she could tell how bothered he was. It helped, a little, breaking the rhythm of the train enough that he didn’t have those words rattling around in his head the entire time.

He’s not really sure why she’s coming home with him. She says something about making sure he gets home safely, and she smiles at him when she says it.

“I should be making sure _you_ get home safely,” he says.

“I can take care of myself, and you can put me in a cab later if you’d like,” she replies easily. “And you didn’t answer my question. Are you from California?”

“Yes.” He gives her a look. “Why?”

“I knew a Stilinski when I was a very little girl,” she says, and her expression is slightly sad. “He was a really nice guy when I was terrified, and I liked him. He helped take care of me, and made sure that Uncle Peter was taken care of as well. And that was in California.”

Okay, so, maybe there really are no such things as coincidences. Stiles holds up his finger, asking silently for her to hold that thought, before he wrestles with the lock on his building. He pushes open the door and gestures her inside. “Third floor walkup,” he says, his tone apologetic. “If you want to come up, you’re welcome to, but I can’t promise anything better to eat and drink than salty snacks and a few halfway decent beers. It’s a bachelor place, and it’s tiny. I can’t afford the doorman and nicely secure sort of New York place.”

“I can.” She doesn’t say it like it’s a big deal, and she steps through and starts up the stairs ahead of him. “Are you part of a big family?”

“Are you one of the Hales from Beacon Hills?” He can sort of see where she might be going, and she’s trying to be subtle, but Stiles is too curious and goes for the blunt approach instead. “I… I don’t remember the fire much. There was a lot going on back then, but someone mentioned it to me recently, and I figured it was just a coincidence.”

She pauses on the landing and looks back at him, eyes somehow dark and serious in the dim light. “Do you ever wonder if there really is any such thing as a coincidence, Stiles? Or maybe it’s all just part of a larger pattern, and maybe we’ll never quite see it, but it’s there.”

He edges past her so he can unlock his door and push it wide. “Are you saying you believe in fate? Not that I wasn’t just thinking the same thing about coincidences.”

“I’m saying this is the second time I’ve met a Stilinski when I’m in the middle of a tragedy, and yes, I’m one of those Hales.” She watches him as he closes the door and turns on the lights. “And now you’ve fallen into our lives, and that just seems a bit odd to me.”

“If you grew up in Beacon Hills, shouldn’t we already know each other?”

“I left after the fire, during fifth grade.” Cora shrugs out of her jacket. “Peter was in the hospital for a long, long time, and I was sent to live with foster parents because Derek and Laura weren’t allowed to keep me. I was too young, and they weren’t eighteen yet. They ran away and came here. We only reconnected a few years ago, after Peter had healed and came to get me, during my junior year of high school. I don’t remember much from before the fire, honestly, and pretty much everything from my life burned.” She purses her lips thinly. “Including my family. Derek, Laura, and Peter were all I had left, and for a long time, I didn’t even really have them. And now there’s only Derek and Peter.”

“I’m sorry.” The words seem so small. “Look, Cora, if there’s anything I can do…”

“Don’t get involved.” She interrupts him quickly. “Stiles, you have no idea what you’ve stumbled into and I can’t tell you all of it. But I know you think Laura was murdered. The thing is, if she was, and if they _know_ you have any idea about it… you’ll be in just as much danger.”

Wait. “How do you know I think Laura was murdered?”

“You told us.”

“You’re lying, because I didn’t.” And Stiles knows he didn’t, he’s positive of that, even though Cora’s eyes are wide and guileless. He throws his hands in the air. “I told _Laura_ , that. And you can’t exactly convince me that _she_ told you.”

“No, you told us. I’m sure of it. When we were at lunch.” She sets her jacket over the back of the chair before she sits on the couch carefully. “I’m not joking, Stiles. Don’t tell anyone else, and forget what you saw. It’s best that way.”

Stiles drops on the other end of the sofa, sitting sideways so he can face her. “Telling me this isn’t the way to get me to go away,” he says seriously. “Why are you even here, if you want me to stay away from things? Don’t you think that if someone attacked Laura on purpose, then you hanging out with me makes us both targets? Is this something against your family, or was it about Laura?”

For a moment he thinks she’s about to open her mouth and spill everything. He sees her eyes go dark and vulnerable, and she looks down at the floor, her hands clenched in her lap. But when she looks back up she has a small smile for him. “I wanted to see a movie, and I didn’t feel like going alone, and honestly, I like you, Stiles Stilinski. Besides, when I told Derek I was meeting you there, it really pissed him off, and that makes anything worth it. He’s such a sourpuss sometimes.”

“You mean it isn’t just when he’s snapping at me? Or wait… was it still about me?” For a moment Stiles has hope that Derek is just an ass in general (which is sad, considering he’s so hot otherwise), but the realization that it probably was still about Stiles himself is sobering. “I’m not stalking him. And that’s not why I was there when Laura died. I work in the museum that’s near the park. A small one, and I’m…” he trails off, because really, Cora is probably not at all interested in this. “Anyway, point is, I see him jogging at lunch time, so I assume he works nearby. And I’m not stalking him, I’m just jogging too. On the same path. Usually behind him, except for the other day when I pretty much tripped over him because I couldn’t get things out of my head, and he snapped at me, and oh crap.” Stiles stumbles to a stop because that part all makes sense. “So, I was thinking about Laura. About seeing what happened. And of course, he was pretty much thinking about the same thing. Not about seeing what happened, but about her being gone. And there I was, being all insensitive. No wonder he was an ass. What was he even doing at work that day?”

Cora’s mouth is slightly open, like she’s planning to interrupt but can’t get a word in edgewise, and when she finally closes it, a hint of a smirk lingers around the edges. “That’s how Derek deals with things. When he gets upset, he works. He was only sixteen when they moved out here, and Laura was seventeen. She started out in a coffee shop, and he was a bike messenger. They worked their way through college, and Laura ended up as a designer, and Derek works in this boring as hell financial job. I think he tells people what to do with their money, and I think he hates it. He’s really not the kind of person who belongs in an office all day, but try telling him that and you’ll get your head bit off.”

“Then why does he do it?”

“I think it’s penance.” Cora worries at her lower lip with her teeth. “For surviving. He feels like he has to do the right thing, even if it’s really the wrong thing.”

“Then he’s an idiot.” Stiles pushes himself up and heads over to the small kitchenette. He starts searching through the fridge, pulling out bottles of water and some small snacks he has stored in there. Maybe they did manage to share a giant bucket of popcorn not all that long ago, but he’s got a healthy appetite and he hears the _hmm_ when he pulls out pepperoni and cheese so he keeps those along with some crackers.

“I won’t argue that point,” Cora says. When Stiles glances back at her, she has taken off her shoes and is sitting with her feet tucked under her on the sofa. “So, do you like him?”

“Do I what?” His voice skates up on the last word and her laugh warbles. A flush stains the back of his neck. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve been taking bets on me. You _barely know me_ and you’ve been taking bets.”

“Maybe.” She draws the word out slowly. “And I win. Peter thought I might be more your type.”

“If I hadn’t seen Derek beforehand, you might be,” Stiles admits. He tucks the two bottles of water under his arm and grabs the plate of snacks. “I’d say I’m not picky but that would come out wrong. I mean, I like men and women. My type is just… whatever seems to strike me at the moment. And lately I’ve been wishing it wasn’t him, especially since I’m pretty sure he’s hating my guts. Well, and the whole problem of not knowing if I’m _his_ type, which makes asking a guy out complicated.”

“I think you and Derek operate on a similar principle.” Cora’s expression is carefully innocent as she reaches for a cracker, neatly placing cheese and pepperoni on it. “And no, I’m not going to go all middle school and ask him if he likes you. Because I’m not sure it matters right now.” She gives him a wry look. “You’re still in danger being around any of us, Stiles. I’ll let you know when we get this cleared up. Then you can fall over him again and ask him out. But give him time to heal first, okay?”

Right. Asking out the hot guy right after his sister dies is insensitive. Very much so. But wait… “ _You_ are going to clear things up? That’s for the police to do. And if they aren’t doing it, you need someone like me. Someone who was trained by the best sheriff in Beacon Hills.” Or well, self-trained by sneaking around after the best sheriff in Beacon Hills. “I’m a great investigator, and obviously I notice things most people don’t. No one else saw her, but I did. Do you even know who you’re looking for?”

“Does that mean you’re willing to talk to me about it?”

Stiles’s mouth opens, then closes with a small snap. Well, huh. Somehow things keep getting turned around, the longer he talks to Cora. He still doesn’t know how she knows what he whispered to Laura’s grave. But she does. And now maybe she actually does want his help, even though she’s telling him to stay out of it. “Depends. Are you going to take the information and run off with it for my own good? Because frankly, I’m starting to like you—in a purely friendly sort of way—so I’m not so sure I want to be sending you into trouble. And if it’s trouble for me, it’s trouble for you.”

“Are you trying to manipulate me into letting you investigate even though you _know_ it could get you killed?”

“Are you trying to leave me in the dark even though you know whoever that was could come for me anyway? Knowledge is power, Cora,” Stiles counters. “I say we work together. It’s the best way to keep all of us alive.”

She looks away, fidgeting with trying to balance the cheese on the cracker, watching it slide because the cracker is tilted. “Fine,” she says softly. “But I can’t tell you everything, not yet. So you’ll have to start out trusting me, and tell me what you know about what happened, and I’ll make sure that you aren’t left alone, okay?”

“How do you plan on doing that?”

When she looks at him, her eyes are wide and dark, no traces of that flashing blue that he’s come to associate with the Hales. Tears shine in the corners. “I could use some company. Not _that_ ,” she says quickly. “Just… Peter’s off being Peter, and Derek’s all growly and not exactly sympathetic, and honestly, a shoulder would be nice. And you do give good hugs, so, I was thinking we could watch movies and I could crash on your couch.”

“And be my bodyguard.” Stiles can’t help the bemusement at the idea of this small girl protecting him. Not that he’s sure he can protect himself against whatever happened to Laura, but he’s also pretty sure that whatever that _is_ , it isn’t going to come creeping in his window. He hopes.

“Exactly.”

Stiles answers by twisting around to sit next to Cora and lifting his arm, offering her space to tuck herself in close to him. She settles herself there, head on his shoulder, one hand on his leg as she breathes in and lets it go slowly. “Besides,” she murmurs. “You have no idea how much this will piss Derek off.”

He laughs in response, even if he doesn’t believe her, or maybe it will piss him off for some other reason. Like oh, Stiles interfering in whatever is going on with the Hales. But he trusts her, even if maybe he shouldn’t yet. So he starts talking, telling her about the woman who disappeared, and she listens intently as he speaks.

And for the first time since it happened, Stiles feels like he isn’t going through this alone.

#

Stiles aches when he awakens, still curled together on the sofa with Cora, the television playing quietly in the background on a menu loop from the last movie they watched. He manages to untangle himself carefully, without waking her, and pads off to his room to collect clothes and then to the bathroom for a shower. When he emerges, fresh and clean, she is in the kitchenette pouring milk into a bowl of cereal, which she hands to him.

“Sorry, I’m not a great cook.” She shrugs and hunts another bowl for herself.

“That’s okay, in order for either of us to cook, I’d have to have more food, and I’m kind of waiting for my roommate to get here and buy his share for the month so I can mooch off of him.” Stiles eats quickly, spooning up big mouthfuls of the cereal and drinking down the milk when he’s done. “Um, I don’t want to rush you, and you can stay as long as you need, but I have to get out of here so I’m not late to work. I can call you a cab if you want, so you get home safely.”

“I’ll call one after I shower.” She smiles at him, and he forgets for a moment that he barely knows her and maybe he shouldn’t be leaving her alone with all his things. On the other hand, if she were a serial killer or a thief, she probably would have done all that while he slept rather than waiting until now. “You have a roommate?”

“I will soon,” he says. “Scott’s arriving Tuesday. Tomorrow. Oh holy crap, Scott’s arriving tomorrow, and this place… I’m not ready.” Stiles looks around, and hopes he can manage to unpack all the things that are currently stored in Scott’s room before Scott actually arrives. “He’s my best friend from home. You’d like him. And you don’t know him. I mean, you don’t not remember him, because he moved in with his mom when we were in seventh grade. But he’s been in your house.”

Her expression clouds. “I really don’t want to talk about the fire, Stiles.”

His mouth opens, then closes. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m not really awake yet, and my filter hasn’t turned on. It will, soon, and it’ll be safer to have a conversation with me then, I promise. Look, just text me later and let me know that you got home okay. I know you’re worried about me, but I’m worried about you as well. And maybe… don’t take the subway.”

“I won’t, I promise.” She sets her bowl down and leans in close. He’s surprised to feel the brush of her lips against his cheek. “You should go, Stiles.”

He points to the card on the fridge. “That is the only really reputable cab company near here, so call them as soon as you’re ready. Do _not_ go out and stick out your thumb. Call them, and they’ll be here and pick you up.”

“I know how cabs work, Stiles!” She laughs as she gives him a quick hug, then pushes him towards the door. “Do I have to do anything special to get your door to lock behind me?”

“Just make sure the latch locks, that’s it.” Stiles installed those locks specifically, because standing in the hallway and setting five locks before he left every morning was never going to happen. He just needs to hear it slam behind him to know his space is safe.

He tries not to think how weird it is to leave a girl he barely knows—a girl who spent the night without actually _doing_ anything with him—behind in his apartment in the morning. He’d text Scott, but he’s pretty sure that conversation would grow out of control quickly, so he’ll save it for Tuesday night instead.

Right now, it’s more important to get his dad on the phone. He has plenty of time to talk while walking to the subway station.

His dad’s night shift helps with the time zones, and Stiles dials him at work, knowing he’ll still be there for another few hours. “Dad! Hey.”

“Out of money, Stiles?”

“Dad, do you think so little of me?” Stiles spreads his hands, gestures still fluid even though his father can’t see him speaking. “Actually, yes, I’m out of money, but I also get Scott tomorrow and I’m planning on taking him grocery shopping the very next day, so we’ll be fine. Once the budget starts to smooth out, I won’t be as broke, which will be good. Living here without a roommate for a few months has been tight. But no, that’s not why I called.”

“Stiles, have you had coffee this morning?” His father’s voice is dry, tired, and Stiles can imagine the way he covers his face with his hand.

“No, just not enough sleep,” Stiles admits. “Can I ask you a favor? There are these boxes in my room labeled _school stuff_ and somewhere in there are the things from when I was in grade school. I need you to scan and send me copies of the class pictures, and then pack up my old yearbooks from then and send them to me.”

“Your yearbooks from _grade school_?” Disbelief at the other end of the line. “Stiles, did you even _have_ yearbooks in grade school?”

“Every year,” Stiles says. “Mom bought me one at the end of every single year, and when I reminded you of that in fifth grade, you made sure to buy me one, too.” 

Everything goes silent then as they both remember, how intensely incredibly awkward and hard that year was, with her in the hospital and Stiles and his father flailing their way through life.

Stiles hears the rough sigh, even across the miles, and he feels back for invoking mom in the conversation, but that part of it is true. It was a tradition she created, and that his dad helped keep up after. “Is there a reason why you suddenly need your memories from then?” the Sheriff asks.

“Because I can’t remember it without them,” Stiles says. He stops outside the subway station; if he waits he can finish the conversation and miss the train, but if he goes, he’ll lose signal. He waits. Talking to Dad is more important. “Something’s come up. I met Derek and Cora Hale.”

“The Hale kids? Damn, I remember Cora after the fire.”

“She remembers you, too,” Stiles says softly. “Fondly. But I don’t remember her at all, and we were about the same age, and she doesn’t remember me either. We had pretty traumatic times, so I can’t really blame either of us, but I thought that maybe some pictures would help jog our memories. So if you could send those, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll try to find them.” There is a scratching sound, and Stiles imagines his father writing down careful notes so he doesn’t forget. “You know, there was someone looking for the Hales recently.”

“There was?” Stiles shivers with the chill that goes through him at that. “Who? It wasn’t a brown-haired woman, was it?”

“Where do you get these questions, Stiles? No, it was a guy from their insurance. Apparently they are coming up on their final settlement payment, and there are questions regarding the property, so he needs to get in touch with them. Unfortunately, Derek and Laura Hale ran away years ago, and Peter Hale seems to have dropped off the face of the earth along with Cora.”

“Except they haven’t,” Stiles says slowly, but he has a feeling that maybe it would be better if they had. “Why don’t you give me the guy’s contact information and I’ll pass it along. I’m guessing I’ll see Cora again tonight.”

“You might think that.”

Stiles turns quickly when he hears the voice behind him, cradling the phone to his ear. “Um. Dad. Just send me that stuff, and if you could send me my old library card number, too, I’d appreciate it. I want to log into the system to do some research that I can’t find here. Thanks, bye.” He presses _end_ before his father has a chance to say anything, then he just stares at the man standing there, much too close to him. “Derek. Hi. What are you doing here?”

“Taking the subway.” His arms are crossed, a pastry bag dangling from one hand, and he just stands there until Stiles really doesn’t know what’s going on.

No. Wait. Maybe he does know what’s going on.

“Did Cora call you? She couldn’t have. You couldn’t possibly have gotten here this fast, even if you left the second I left my place. Admittedly, I’ve been on the phone for a few, but still… you don’t live around here. Do you?” Stiles is thinking out loud, letting the words flow and watching to see if anything makes Derek’s expression change, or makes those eyes flash blue.

Nothing. No reaction. He’s like a wall.

An extremely well built, incredibly fit wall.

With a pastry bag. Maybe he’s just here for the shop around the corner. Or not. Stiles tries to hold on to that excuse, but he’s not sure he entirely believes it.

Derek doesn’t move until Stiles does, and they both walk down into the station together. No matter where Stiles chooses to stand, Derek is there, just a foot or so away. It doesn’t seem like he’s looking at Stiles, but he can’t just slip away, either. They end up standing in the same space on the train, unable to find seats and holding onto the cross bar as they sway with the movement. When the train spits them back out into the next station, Stiles can see Derek lingering in the edges of his vision, moving with the crowd but never quite out of sight.

Derek does not normally take the same train. Stiles would have noticed it long before now, if _the guy_ shared a train with him every morning as well as their lunchtime jogging habit. He tries to ignore him during the few block walk to the museum, but he’s aware that he’s being followed. 

Stiles pauses on the steps, looking back, and he waves. “I’ll see you at lunch!” he calls out, then taps his wrist where there isn’t a watch. “Jogging! It’s a date!”

Derek scowls and turns away, swallowed up by the crowded street before Stiles can guess where he’s actually going for work.

His phone buzzes just as he gets inside and he pauses long enough to look at the text message.

_Movie tonight. Derek’s coming with us. Peter’s not (be glad of that)._

Stiles raises both eyebrows and texts back. _I’m not made of money; it’s your treat. Why was Derek on my train this morning?_

He’s not at all surprised when the only text he receives back is _Of course I’m paying. See you at seven, same theater._

For people who want him to stay out of their business, he sure is seeing a lot of the Hales. Can’t seem to get rid of them, actually.

Maybe he’ll be lucky, and the second not-date will go better than the lunch did. He’s pretty sure that anything would be an improvement.

#

Stiles checks his email once during the day to find a message from his father containing scans of his old class pictures, his library card, and a note that Scott will be bringing the grade school yearbooks with him on Tuesday. He finds Cora in the first image he opens up—from first grade—smiling with a gap where her teeth haven’t grown in yet. Her face is a little rounder—Stiles can see where her cheekbones are more defined now—but he can still recognize her even without the name to remind him. He goes through the rest of the pictures quickly and finds her in kindergarten and first grade, but not after that. He remembers that there were three classes for each grade when he was a kid, and she must not have shared a class with him after first grade. No wonder he doesn’t remember her, if the last time they interacted regularly was when they were seven, even if they were in the same school until fifth grade. He sends the photos to his phone, then forwards them by text to Cora.

He does see Derek over lunch, somehow managing to follow Stiles around the park as they jog, staying exactly the same distance back even when Stiles slows down to let him catch up. Fine. Maybe he likes the view (hah, probably not), so Stiles just gives up and lets himself drown in the cadence of the run. Music blasts in his ears and he is almost able to ignore the fact that when he’s done, Derek follows him back to the museum and doesn’t disappear into the crowds until Stiles is at the door to the building.

They know more than what they’re saying about what happened to Laura. Stiles is sure of it.

Not to mention that it is really weird having a protective detail from the very people he is trying to protect.

He almost doesn’t notice Derek in the subway station at the end of the day, until they are both moving forward in the crowd and manage to reach the door at the same time. Stiles edges through the open door just ahead of Derek, all too aware of the other man pushing in behind him, their bodies angling together into the standing room only space. Their hands are inches apart on the overhead bar, and Stiles bites his lip and tries to breathe slowly.

This would really not be a good time for an inappropriate reaction to _the guy_ , now that he knows that _the guys_ is actually Derek, the growly guy who doesn’t seem to like him much. Why offer up more ammunition?

“So,” Stiles says in a low voice. “Is one of you going to follow me around every day? Should I be worried about when it’s Uncle Peter’s turn?”

“Why would you worry about Peter?” Derek stares at the wall as if he’s reading the graffiti scribbled all over the advertisements there, his voice a soft rumble.

“Cora says he’s creepy.”

“He won’t hurt you.” There is something almost reassuring in the tone, and Derek finally flicks a glance at Stiles, looking away again after a moment. “And yes. You have no idea what you’ve gotten involved in.”

“You could try telling me,” Stiles points out. “I might be safer if I had a vague idea what’s going on. Other than the part where your sister is dead, I saw how it happened, and the police don’t believe me.”

“And you’re still trying to look into it, as well as poking into the past.” Derek fishes his phone out of his pocket and flashes the screen at Stiles. There are texts there from Cora. _Maybe we were besties when we were tiny_ , one says, and the picture he sent her from first grade is linked, along with another text. _Maybe we can be again_.

Stiles flushes. “Well, maybe she’s right. Maybe this is all just bringing back something that started back then.”

Derek snorts, and it isn’t a happy sound. “You have no idea.”

Stiles bites his tongue. He wants to have an idea. He wants to know what they’re hiding, and he’ll figure it out. Once Scott gets here they’ll pull an all-nighter and sift through the data until Stiles at least has a starting point. One thing that makes sense.

The train rounds a corner, and the crowd shifts with the motion, pushing Derek closer to Stiles. He manages to catch his balance only by leaning back, taking the press of body to body. He’s used to it, with strangers, and usually everyone shifts and goes back to normal when the motion is done, but Derek stiffens behind him and Stiles can guess why.

“Look, I’m _not_ stalking—”

“Shh.” The order is a soft whisper of sound, a hiss of hot breath against Stiles’s neck that does nothing to help the _situation_ he’s starting to find himself in. But the tension in Derek’s voice doesn’t match where Stiles’s mind is, and he cranes his head to look back.

Derek’s attention is on the back of the car, his head lifted, nose in the air. Stiles swears he hears a rough inhalation, feels Derek’s chest move with the sound. There’s a low rumble… holy fuck, is Derek _growling_?

“What’s going on?” Stiles hisses.

Derek’s head snaps back around to look at him, body pressing tighter to Stiles. “Stay still,” he whispers. “Don’t move until I tell you to.”

“Information would be _really_ nice at this point,” Stiles mutters under his breath, and the soft _not now_ lets him know that Derek actually heard him. Damn, the man has good ears.

The train rocks to a halt and the crowd surges, people pouring out the doors and a fresh crowd drifting in. Derek moves, turning with Stiles, placing himself as a wall to guard Stiles from something unseen.

He catches a flash of brown curls and his heart stutters. Derek’s hand falls to his hip, fingers digging in tightly and Stiles breathes until the beat of his heart evens out. “She’s here,” he exhales, trying not to actually speak.

There is a nod against the back of his neck, tickling the sensitive skin. Stiles shivers, trying to pretend that this isn’t happening, but that’s almost impossible as fingers drift against his shoulder, his hip still firmly trapped by tight fingers. When Derek touches his chin, Stiles can’t help himself; he turns to look over his shoulder at Derek to find an inscrutable gaze looking back at him. “What?” Stiles asks.

A kiss is _not_ the answer he expects to get.

But oh _God_ , it’s a good answer. A nice answer. One Stiles really wouldn’t mind getting several times. His heart pounds in response, his body swaying with the motion as the train starts up again, his hips fit back against Derek’s thigh, trapped and held firmly by his body. He realizes that he is the only thing keeping them stable, one hand still wrapped around the overhead bar while Derek holds Stiles.

And the kiss. Damn. Derek’s mouth is hot, his stubble prickly against Stiles’s cheek. Stiles makes a small whimpering sound, nipping at Derek’s lip and getting nipped in return, a sensation that travels right to his gut, then promptly lower. An embarrassing situation has just gotten worse, and Stiles doesn’t actually care. He doesn’t care about anything—the brown-haired woman, the incredible _public_ display of affection, or the confusing mixed signals that Derek is sending. He doesn’t care about anything other than hoping this kiss goes on for a long, long time.

When the train stops, the kiss continues until the doors slide closed and Derek pulls back. One hand stays on Stiles’s hip while the other reaches overhead to grab the bar just as the subway rocks into motion again. If it weren’t for that hand, Stiles might fall; as it is, he stumbles slightly in the aftermath, his body still tingling.

“She’s gone now,” Derek says.

A distraction. Oh holy God, that’s all that was. A distraction. “You were hiding me from her,” Stiles manages to say.

Derek nods and Stiles feels his heart drop down, leaving him vaguely sick and reeling. He twists away from Derek, putting space between them, unsurprised when Derek remains exactly where he left him. Stiles mutters under his breath, suspecting that Derek can hear him with that amazing hearing. “Then I’m safe now. And you can just stay on this train and go wherever you really need to go. And I don’t care whether you want to see the movie tonight or not, you should just stay home. Cora and I will be fine on our own.”

He listens to the creak of the train as it moves, the rumble of wheels over the track. The disturbing words about Laura’s death have fled his mind in the wake of _Derek kissed me… Derek kissed me…_ and he can’t get that out of his mind. He curls his free hand into a fist, and refuses to look back.

When the train arrives at his station, and he moves towards the door, Stiles is sure he imagines the words _see you at seven_ spoken quietly behind him.

#

Stiles honestly thought Derek would stay home, so he is surprised when he arrives at the movie theater and both Cora and Derek are there waiting. Derek doesn’t say a word, jaw set and tight when Cora hugs Stiles enthusiastically and wrangles them all into the theater. Cora arranges it so that Stiles is between them, but it isn’t as awkward as it could be since Cora and Stiles can’t stop talking. They look over the pictures Stiles sent, delving into memories from long ago, trying to find places where they intersected in their young lives. It’s funny how they remember people in common, and occasionally remember small events that involved both of them, like Lydia Martin’s Halloween party in second grade.

They laugh and chatter through the movie, while Stiles remains aware of the solid body in the seat next to him, the arm that lies on the rest between them, surprisingly warm. Derek never says a word, never joins in the chatter, but he is so solidly _there_. It is strangely reassuring, even if it makes Stiles’s body prickle all over every time he thinks about it.

When the movie’s done, and they’ve sat through the credits to catch the Easter egg at the end, Cora tugs Stiles to standing and tangles her fingers with his. “There is this dessert and coffee place that I love in Little Italy. Our car will take us there.”

“You have a sentient car?” Because that’s what it sounds like, and apparently the thought makes Derek laugh with that soft snort that he does. Stiles wonders if he thinks it will break his face if he actually gives in and properly _laughs_. “No, seriously, what are you talking about?”

“I ordered a black car to pick us up after the show,” Cora says easily, as if throwing around that kind of money is nothing. “We can go get dessert, then it’ll take us back to your place and we can figure out who’s staying with you tonight.”

Wait. What? Stiles yanks his hand free and puts both hands up, palms out. “Wait. I’ll have a roommate as of tomorrow night, so you _can’t_ get used to crashing on my couch, Cora. And after today’s fiasco, I really don’t think Derek would be comfortable with it. You’re already calling me his stalker, and…” He trails off, realizing that Cora is staring at him, her head cocked and gaze narrowed.

“Derek?” Her voice is almost pleasant, if it weren’t for the line of steel underneath. “When were you going to tell me what happened today?”

“We saw Kate.”

“She has a _name_?” Stiles whips around to look at him, both hands spread wide, then thrown up in frustration. “When were you going to tell me this? You _know_ this woman. I bet you even know why she’s after you. Or me. Or whoever the hell she’s after now.”

“Stiles.” Cora captures one of his hands and yanks, and holy crap is she ever strong. Stiles stumbles, following her out of the theater and onto the city sidewalk. “Do you _really_ want to be yelling all that in a public place?” she chides, keeping a tight hold on him as she scans the street then starts pulling him towards a sleek, expensive black car.

Of course. A black car is… a black town car. A hired car, like the one they had at the funeral. Stiles has seen them all over the city, with their livery plates and tinted windows and sometimes when the windows are open a small slit he catches a glimpse of someone dressed expensively tucked inside.

Definitely not the sort of transportation he’s used to.

Cora pulls him in, leaving Stiles trapped in the middle of the long bench seat, Derek’s thigh pressed up against his. He has to twist his legs awkwardly and he fidgets, trying to find space for his legs, until Derek grips his thigh and growls, “Stop.”

Stiles smiles weakly. “I don’t want you think—”

Derek sighs. “I don’t. Just stop wiggling and sit.” He leans to tap on the window between them and the driver, pointing up, and a privacy barrier slides up to block all view of their seat. Stiles slumps down and tries to relax and not think about exactly where he is.

Cora turns, one arm behind Stiles’s shoulders, the other hand resting familiarly on his forearm. She pitches her voice low, leaning close. “Okay, so, tell me what happened with Kate. Where were you? Did she see where Stiles lived? Should we take him home with us tonight?”

“It was on the train and she didn’t spot us.” Derek’s voice is just as low, a murmur against Stiles’s ear, but he’s beginning to think that fantastic hearing runs in the family. “I caught her…” he hesitates, and Stiles can almost hear the frustration in his voice as he shifts gears, and Stiles wonders what he’d originally intended to say. “I noticed her before she could notice me, and I made sure we weren’t anything she’d look twice at. She got off at the stop before Stiles’s.”

“How did you do that?” Cora’s question is light and curious, and Stiles can almost hear the laughter in it.

“He kissed me.” Stiles figures Derek won’t bother to tell, so he interrupts. “With tongue, but don’t worry, I understand that the situation was more _hiding from a psychopathic killer_ rather than _romantic heat of the moment we can’t resist any more_ and I won’t be increasing my stalking. Not that I was stalking him in the first place. Today it was more like he was stalking me.”

Cora giggles and Derek grumbles.

“The question is,” Stiles points out, “how did she know which train I’d be on? I wasn’t even on my usual one the night Laura died. I was going somewhere else.”

“You gave a statement to the police. She may not know exactly what you said, but she could probably get some information about you.”

Derek glances at Cora and shakes his head. “She can’t have his name, or she’d have his address and she would’ve followed us to his stop. She was looking for something, and my guess is she’s learned what he looks like, and what train he’s usually on. Which means that routine needs to change.”

“Because you think she’ll kill me.” Stiles keeps his voice even when he says it. He doesn’t find it very reassuring that both Cora and Derek give him extremely calm looks, and Derek nods.

“Without hesitation,” Cora says quietly. “Psychopathic killer isn’t a bad name for it. She’s… she’s been off the deep end for a long time. And it’s kind of probably my fault she made her way here.”

“Does this mean I get to find out what’s going on?” Stiles manages to look between the two, catching Derek shaking his head while Cora nods. “Dudes, you have got to agree on this one. I’m in danger. You’ve both admitted that, and you’ve been sticking to me like glue. I was beginning to wonder if I should tell Derek to take the day off work and come sit in my office.”

Derek rolls his eyes, and Cora laughs.

The car stops, and the siblings exchange a look over Stiles’s head.

“Dessert,” Cora says. “Then we’ll take you home and we’ll explain. But you aren’t going to like it.”

“The only thing I don’t like is the way you two keep me in the dark.” Stiles slides out of the car as soon as Cora makes space for him. They wait while Derek gives the driver instructions before joining them.

“We’re going to tell you _everything_.” Cora ignores the low growl from Derek. “I promise. Even if I have to lock him in the bathroom to shut him up while I take care of it. But just remember, you can’t unhear things after they’re said. And getting deeper into our world isn’t going to make anything better for you. It’s more likely to make it worse.”

Stiles can handle that. He’s sure of it. He just needs to know what’s going on, then he can help fix it.

#

After they eat dessert, Cora gets a box of cannoli to go, along with another box of cookies. Before they leave Little Italy, she pulls Stiles and Derek with her through a series of stores, buying stock provisions and pre-cooked meals, including a set of to-go boxes she apparently ordered earlier from her favorite restaurant.

“Why are you doing this?” Stiles shakes his head as she piles more into the trunk of the car while the driver waits patiently.

“I refuse to go hungry in your apartment.” She shrugs. “And Derek has an even bigger appetite, although if you have the ingredients, he’s actually a good cook. Definitely better than I am. Some people tell me he looks good in an apron, but being his sister, all I can think is _ew_.”

“Cora.” Derek’s voice is a warning, but Cora only smiles and blows a kiss.

“One more stop, then we go home to Stiles’s place and make sure he gets some sleep sometime tonight. He’s almost out of cereal and milk, because he probably doesn’t actually eat anything else if he’s left to his own devices, and he needs bread, eggs, pancake mix… probably some sausage or bacon. He has no idea what he’s getting into trying to feed you.”

“I _am_ a guy,” Stiles tries to point out. “I’m aware how much men eat. And Scott—he eats even more than I do. Sometimes. Well, it depends on the day.”

“You’ve got nothing on Derek.”

There’s no way to resist, so they go along into the grocery store and come out with even more staples, enough that Stiles thinks his refrigerator will be full before Scott arrives. Which will be a nice surprise, but he just can’t take it as a gift. “I can’t pay you back,” he tells her. “Not yet. Not until things even out after Scott’s here. But I will, eventually. I promise.”

“It’s for me and Derek.” Cora gives him a look and her eyes flash that bright blue color, just for a moment. It makes her gaze feel like steel. “You’re just a side point, eating the leftovers.” Then she wraps one arm around his shoulder and kisses his cheek and Stiles has no idea what to do other than get back in the car and go along for the ride.

“Is she always like this?” Stiles watches as Cora stands outside the car, discussing directions with the driver.

Derek snorts. “Laura was worse.”

When he goes quiet, Stiles reaches without thinking, hand covering Derek’s. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I really am. I know you still have pretty much absolutely no idea who I am, other than this annoying guy who followed you around the park every day, but I’m still really sorry that you lost your sister. We’re going to do more than the police can. We’re going to find Kate, and we’re going to…” He trails off, because _make her pay_ sounds so violent and final. “We’ll make sure justice happens.”

The door opens and Cora calls out, “Budge over, Stiles.”

He lets go of Derek as he slides, but he presses his knee against him, giving it a moment before he relaxes. When Stiles turns towards Cora to ask a question, he realizes that Derek’s knee is still there, pressing lightly back. The man may be ignoring them completely, staring at the window, but his knee… it’s just another mixed signal in a long list of them, and Stiles files it away for later perusal. Maybe it will make sense at two in the morning, after his brain has turned to mush, because it doesn’t make sense in the light of day.

They keep the conversation light during the drive, and when they get to Stiles’s building it takes them three trips to get everything Cora bought upstairs. Cora leaves Stiles and Derek trying to figure out where to put everything in the small kitchen while she goes down to pay the driver and send him away.

“Dude, your sister is a force of nature.” Stiles shakes his head and sorts things between fridge, freezer, and cabinet. They set up an easy rhythm, and Stiles laughs when Derek opens the box of cannoli, and asks for a plate. “Why bother with a plate?” Stiles points out, and he’s rewarded by a grin bright enough that it almost knocks him over.

He’d thought _the guy_ was attractive when all sour faced, but when he smiles he’s almost otherworldly. Out of his league, that’s for certain, not to mention apparently tangled up in something crazy.

“Is it a mob thing?” Stiles pushed the fridge door closed and checks to make sure it is _really_ closed. He grabs a couple of paper towels to use as napkins and gestures towards the living room. The door opens as he’s explaining, and Cora starts laughing. “No, stop!” Stiles protests. “You’re talking about a woman running around like a hit man, and she’s trying to kill you and me and causing invisible heart attacks. Why shouldn’t I think it’s a mob thing? Although none of you look Italian.”

“It’s not the mob,” Derek says dryly. “Kate’s my ex-girlfriend.”

Ex- _what_? “Oh. So it’s a spurned heart thing? If that’s it, and she’s all _Basic Instinct_ psychotic, kissing me was _not_ the way to keep me off her radar,” Stiles points out. He’s talking to cover the fact that he’s thinking. Because she’s Derek’s _ex_ , which is probably proof that his lack of interest in Stiles—the kiss being one entirely separate life-saving incident, as impersonal as mouth-to-mouth would be—stems out of lack of interest in guys, not lack of interest in Stiles in particular. Which makes any crush all the more futile, but slightly less damaging to the ego.

“Not exactly.” Cora slaps the back of Derek’s hand before grabbing a cannoli. “Share, big brother. It’s not a mob thing, but it’s kind of a family thing. Her family hates my kind of people. They think we’re all monsters and should be killed. Kate took the personal tactic towards it and tried to wipe us all out in a fiery inferno. Dating Derek just happened to get her in the door.”

Stiles blinks, because none of that really makes sense. “What?”

“I told you it was complicated.” Cora nibbles on the cannoli. “Derek, do you want to do the honors, or should I?”

“Peter’s going to kill us.”

“Peter’s not here.” She smiles brightly. “Plus, Peter is the most psychotic, controlling, somewhat bipolar alpha that I could ever imagine owing allegiance to, and if he weren’t family, I suspect one of us would have killed him already. But, we don’t have much family _left_ , so we’ll keep him. Besides, neither of us actually wants to be the alpha. Laura considered it, at one point, but killing is so _messy_ , when we can really just ignore him instead.”

“Hey.” Stiles waves a hand between them. “Still here, and very much lost right now, because you are making _no sense whatsoever_. Other than Peter being creepy, which you’ve already mentioned, but _killing him_? Isn’t that what we’re trying to keep Kate from doing?”

“We’d miss Peter if she killed him,” Cora admits. “It’s a complicated familial relationship. He used to be better, before the fire, but I think he’s been a bit messed up since then. There’s something about being an alpha while being locked up inside your own body. It’s made him go nuts.”

“Just a bit.” Derek’s tone is dry. “Stiles, are you sure you want to know this? It doesn’t go beyond this room and it doesn’t go outside of these people. Not even your roommate.”

“I have to tell Scott.” Stiles is firm on that. “He’s my best friend. He’s _been_ my best friend since he came to Beacon Hills, and we tell each other everything. Anything you can trust me for, you can trust him. I promise. On my life, since that seems to be the currency we’re talking about here.”

“We’re werewolves.”

Stiles stares at Cora, his mouth slightly open. “I could swear you just said you’re _werewolves_.”

“I did.” She pops the last of the cannoli in her mouth and delicately licks her fingers. “Born that way.”

“Born that way.” Stile echoes her words, at a loss to find any of his own. “You’re werewolves. People that turn into wolves at the full moon, and can only be hurt by silver bullets. Supernatural creatures that can bite other people and turn _them_ into wolves. Stuff off Hollywood legend and nightmares.”

“Not exactly.” Derek’s tone is serious, but Cora giggles. He gives her a glare, which Stiles appreciates because _werewolf_ is a serious very non-giggle topic.

“You’re not werewolves?” Stiles cocks his head.

“We are.”

And somehow he believes it more when Derek says it, eyes serious before they flash a momentary blue. Stiles jumps a bit and jabs a finger, almost touching Derek’s nose. “That. The eye thing. That’s part of it.”

“The color is a Hale thing,” Cora says. “We all do it, except when Peter’s go red, and that’s when you watch out for him because that means he’s the big bad alpha. So yes, that’s part of it. But no, we don’t all turn into wolves, and it doesn’t matter if it’s the full moon or not. Our mom could turn into a wolf completely, and I think Peter might be able to. Our dad was human, and so was our youngest brother and our oldest sister. The rest of us were werewolves. Aunt Sam, our older brother, our cousins, Nana Simone, Papa Adam. Except they all died.”

“Died.” Stiles is still echoing everything she says, still trying to assimilate.

“In the fire,” Derek says. “The fire that destroyed my home and killed almost everyone in my family except for me, Laura, Cora and Peter.” He pauses for a moment, then adds quietly, “The fire that Kate set.”

“Whoa.” Stiles goes to stand up, but between the two Hales on his sofa and the coffee table, there’s nowhere he can actually _go_ , so he sits back again, both hands pressed to his face. “This is too much.”

“I warned you,” Cora says lightly.

“So are we talking rival packs?” Because Stiles needs to figure this out, understand exactly what’s going on. He’s sure it has bearing—well, _obviously_ , it does, since they’re not surprised to know about Kate stalking them and being out for blood. But there might be something they miss that he sees.

Derek’s arm slides across the back of the couch, a heavy weight that just barely leans against Stiles’s shoulder. It’s warm, and he realizes that Cora and Derek are _always_ warm. Not hot, but definitely above his own body temperature. That must be part of it.

Werewolf biology. Huh. This is not something Stiles expected to be learning about today.

It’s almost disturbing that he’s actually accepting this as truth. That werewolves exist.

“Hunters,” Derek says. “All we want to do is live in peace, and all they want to do is kill us. And yes, that’s why Laura and I ran after the fire. In case your father asks.”

“My father…” Stiles blinks because last he knew, his dad wasn’t involved in the conversation. “Why would my father…?”

“You already told him you met Cora. You’ve asked him about us, you’ve given him information, which means he’s involved. And if he’s anything like the man I remember, he’ll start opening up that case file again.” Derek raises one eyebrow, and Stiles gives him a wry smile, because that’s probably true.

“It was never officially solved,” Cora says softly. “I was too young to ask anyone to look into it, and Peter was in rehab for years. He almost didn’t heal. Fire’s hard on a wolf, and fire laced with wolfsbane smoke and a mountain ash barrier is even worse.” She smiles a little. “I’ll explain it all better, I promise. I even have a book you could read. If you’d like.”

“I’d like.” The words rush out. “I mean, I’m trying to believe this. I’m trying to take this all at face value, but I feel like it’s too much information. It’s hard to just… have faith and believe.”

“Well, let’s just start with the werewolf part. Derek?” Cora gestures, and Stiles turns to look.

There’s a low growl, then Derek _changes_. Sideburns. A fierce set to his jaw and huge teeth when he bares them in a sharp grin. Something taps Stiles on the shoulder and he turns that way to see the claws that tip Derek’s finger, sharp and tough.

Stiles swallows. “Oh.”

The wolf falls away and Derek returns, his expression a blank wall.

“That would be why we don’t normally tell people,” Cora says, tone light although her expression is serious. “You can’t go back from this, Stiles. And we can’t have you telling people.”

“Except Scott,” he says, because he needs to tell _someone_. He needs just one person to believe in this madness along with him.

“Scott.” The name is a growl on Derek’s tongue, which is a sound that does very strange and unexpected things for Stiles. He has heard it before, when Derek spotted Kate on the train.

“Yeah. Scott.” Stiles tries to breathe easily and not show fear. That’s what you do with a dog, right? They can smell fear. His mind makes the logical leap from that to… “Holy crap. You can smell fear.”

“Did you just call us dogs, Stiles?” Cora shakes her head. “Yes, we can smell things. And you are definitely having a fear reaction. Your heart is racing, and if you’d like to go call Scott, we’d hear every word of both sides of your conversation. But we don’t mean you any harm, Stiles. We’ve been trying to save your ass from our psychotic hunter, in case you haven’t notice. Why are you afraid of us?”

“Teeth.” Stiles gestures from Derek to Cora. “You have to admit, the addition of extremely sharp teeth, and claws that could probably rip my throat out, does change things. Just a little. It doesn’t make either of you any less attractive or interesting, and I’m perfectly willing to still go out to the movies, but right this second I need some time to process. Just a bit.”

“Call your friend.” Derek picks up the cannoli box as he stands, back stiff when he walks away. Stiles can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. “Tell him he shouldn’t come here yet.”

“I can’t, he’s got a job lined up and he’s coming out tomorrow so he can get settled in and see his boyfriend before he starts.” Stiles shakes his head. “I can’t just tell him not to come.”

“He’s not safe here.”

“I’d rather be having this conversation with you than with a wall.” Stiles hates yelling across the tiny apartment, even though he knows he’ll be doing it when Scott gets here. He waits until Derek comes back out and leans against the wall, several feet away. “Look, when Scott gets here, I won’t be alone. Kate wouldn’t dare attack me if Scott’s here, and then Isaac’s coming out on Friday—”

“She burned my entire family while they _slept_ , Stiles.” Derek’s voice drops low, the growl rough and angry. “She doesn’t _have_ limits. If she thinks you can identify her to the police in some way that will pin Laura’s death on her, she _will_ make sure there’s no way you’ll talk again.”

“So, why do you actually _care_?” Stiles stands up, hands going wide, barely missing Cora as she ducks. “I’m just this guy. I’m human. I’m not _like_ you, and I’m betting it’s driving you nuts following me around when you have better things to do with better people than me. So just _stop worrying_ already. I can’t tell if you want me to help, or if you want me to run screaming, or _what_ you want me to do right now.”

“You’re yelling,” Cora says mildly.

“He bugs me.” Stiles snaps.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Stiles glares at Derek who glares back, and fuck, that’s _also_ an attractive look on him. Glowering, smiling, running, leaning against walls… no matter what he does, Derek just looks _good_. Stiles sighs and bows his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to ask my dad about the fire,” he says quietly. “You’re right, he’s probably reopened the case out of sheer curiosity by now, if I’m associating with Hales. I’ll see what he’s got, and maybe I can point him towards Kate. Get her picked up and shipped back to Beacon Hills.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

“Maybe not, but it’ll be worth a try, mister big bad wolf,” Stiles snaps at him. “What are you planning on doing, ripping her throat out?”

Derek arches one eyebrow, and Stiles shivers. He swallows hard, heart racing.

“Okay then. Kate’s throat is apparently on the menu.” Stiles looks away. “I think… I think I need to turn in. I still have work tomorrow. And I need to go play a video game or something until my brain turns to mush and I can actually sleep. Should I be expecting to see one of you in my kitchen tomorrow?”

Silence. Stiles doesn’t look at either of the siblings, certain they’re having a conversation without speaking.

Cora jumps up, putting her bag over her shoulder. “I promised I’d be someplace early, and I’d just wake you up,” she says cheerily. “Besides, you and Derek can just take the same train. It makes it easier than handing you off to him like I did this morning.” She touches her fingers to her lips and blows a kiss. “Sweet dreams, big brother.”

For Stiles, she puts both hands on his shoulders and leans in close, lips brushing his ear as she whispers, “He doesn’t bite. Unless you ask.” She walks away giggling, and Stiles follows her to the door, checking the locks after she’s gone.

When he turns back, Derek hasn’t moved from his spot against the wall.

“I’ll go get you some blankets and a pillow.” Stiles glances at the couch. “I’ve slept on it; it’s not so bad, and we’re about the same height. Will that be okay?”

“It’ll be fine.” Derek’s voice is flat and angry, and Stiles supposes he can’t blame him.

After all, Derek probably has better things to do than to be on babysitting duty for Stiles. Werewolfy things to do. Or hot dude things to do. Stiles is silent as he pulls the blankets and pillow from a box under his bed and delivers them to the living room.

“Sleep however you want,” Stiles says. “You can’t offend me.” But he doesn’t stick around to see how that turns out. He heads straight for his room and closes the door behind him before he starts up a game. Several hours of mindless zombie killing ought to help.

Which is why it’s long after midnight before he finally tumbles into bed, telling himself that he shouldn’t go check to make sure Derek’s sleeping okay on the couch. And it’s a while longer after that before he finally manages to stop listening for some sign of life from the living room, and falls asleep.

#

Stiles wakes in the morning to the sound of Derek’s growl from the living room. He doesn’t stop to think, simply yanks open his bedroom door, a baseball bat in one hand, ready to attack whatever has made him angry.

Derek turns to glare at him, a phone in his hand. Stiles can’t hear the person on the other side, but Derek sighs. “He’s up. I have to go.” He puts the phone in his pocket, and Stiles is suddenly aware that Derek is dressed in a suit that Stiles doesn’t even remember coming into the apartment, and Stiles is still wearing the boxers he slept in.

“I’m underdressed,” he says, heat rising to his cheeks, and he slams the door between them.

Breakfast is awkward, but hearty and filling. Somehow Derek was awake early enough to make eggs and half a pound of bacon, and a small stack of pancakes. It smells amazing and Stiles does his best not to just inhale it. “Cora was right,” he says around a mouthful of pancake. “You can cook. Very well. I wouldn’t mind waking up to a breakfast like this every day.”

Derek just looks at him, and Stiles’s half-awake brain catches up several seconds later to realize what he said. 

“The food,” Stiles clarifies. “I’m not as fond of the way you glare at me. Or growl. What was that? I thought we were being attacked.”

“Just talking to Cora.”

Stiles wants to ask about _what_ , because Derek sounded pissed off at the time, but he doesn’t get the chance. The rush to get the dishes into the sink—and both of them out the door on time for the train—takes over, and they don’t talk once they are in a crowded place. People all around them act as a buffer, making it easy to just stay silent and pretend that they are just two men going in the same direction.

Derek stops him just before he heads up the stairs to the museum. “What time does Scott’s flight get in?”

“It gets into JFK at eleven.” Stiles responds without thinking. The time has been burnt into his mind since the tickets were purchased. “I think he said Isaac’s taking the train down Friday, getting into Penn around nine that night. I was going to get out of the apartment for the weekend, give them some space, but I don’t want them in the apartment alone if Kate comes knocking.”

“I said you could tell _Scott_.”

Stiles sighs. “Did I ask to tell Isaac? No. I am going to tell Scott that if for some reason, he wants to tell Isaac, he can talk to you about that himself. If he can get past the fact that _the guy_ is sleeping on my sofa.”

“The guy?”

Oh crap. Stiles snaps his mouth shut. “It’s just something we talked about. Because there was this guy—you—running when I was running at lunch. It’s not anything.”

Both eyebrows are up this time, and Stiles doesn’t really want to stick around for the rest of this conversation. “Speaking of lunch, I’ll see you then. Maybe we should try to run together, unless you run faster, and don’t want to wait for me to keep up. I’d understand if you’ve got…” He wiggles his fingers. “Running powers or something.”

“I’m coming home with you tonight.” Derek slides his hands into his pockets as he turns away. “We’ll get a car to go pick up Scott. Talk to him tonight about Isaac. He should go there instead.”

“What?” Stiles wants to ask questions, and honestly, he doesn’t _mind_ if Scott goes to see Isaac so he doesn’t have to listen to the two of them having a happy weekend long reunion, but… “You can’t just mess up my life like this!” he yells after Derek.

Who doesn’t bother to answer.

Ass.

It’s only five thirty in Beacon Hills, but Stiles figures Scott has to be waking up to get on the road to San Francisco in order to catch his noon flight. And if he’s not, well, Stiles can be the alarm clock.

It takes five rings before Scott picks up. “Stiles! Mom’s still asleep. Couldn’t you have waited?”

“Not really.” Stiles waves at a few people as he makes his way down to his office. “You’re bringing me the yearbooks, right? I mean, I don’t know if I really _need_ them, but I still want them. I’d really love to get my hands on some yearbooks from the high school from back then, but I’m going to have to go into the archives for that.”

“Yeah, Stiles, I’m bringing the yearbooks.” There’s a sound of a closing door, then the creak of Scott’s bedsprings. “What’s got you all interested in this right now?”

“I’m hanging out with the Hales, and it seems like I might be in a bit of trouble, which I’ll explain when you get here, because it’s very possible that trouble will rub off on you.” Stiles pushes a few papers around on his desk. He really needs to get organized and get some things done today, but the death threat hanging over his head is a bit distracting. “Maybe you should just go visit Isaac this weekend instead of him coming out here.”

There’s no response, and Stiles nudges. “Scott?”

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where a psychotic bitch is trying to kill me.” Stiles figures that’s enough information over the phone. He can save the werewolf part until Scott gets there.

“Did you just say someone is trying to _kill_ you?”

“Apparently, yes.” Stiles taps his pen against the desk. “So see, vacating to see Isaac up at Tufts might be a better option for you, rather than hanging out here. You can get to know the city any time. Preferably after I don’t have to worry about crazy people burning the building down.”

“ _What_?”

“Never mind.” Stiles huffs a sigh. “Scott, things are crazy right now. I’m not joking. I know you probably think I am, but I have some things to tell you that you probably won’t believe and that make the fact that _the guy_ spent the night on my sofa last night look absolutely normal in my life.”

Stiles can almost hear the wheels spinning on the other end of the phone, and he wonders if this is what he looked like just last night.

“ _The guy_ , Stiles? The guy. The one you’ve been talking about for weeks.”

“Who is the brother of the girl who got killed on the tracks, and whose sister used to be my classmate and has decided we are brand new besties now, and it’s all tied up with the psychotic bitch killer. And some other things.” Because if Stiles is laying it all out there, he might as well just spill it bluntly. “Don’t worry about it, and we can talk when you get here. And hey, no subway for you tonight. Derek’s hiring a car and we’re coming to pick you up.”

“Derek? We? Sounds like you’ve gotten cozy fast.”

“It’s not like that, and don’t I wish it was.” Stiles makes a face even though Scott can’t see him. “They probably won’t feed you on the plane, so I’ll bring something for you to eat. When are the things you shipped arriving?”

“Tomorrow, right to the apartment.”

“Good, that’ll be easy at least.” Maybe Stiles should take the day off so he can be home for it, just in case Kate’s some screwy bitch who tries to sneak in with the delivery men.

And maybe Stiles is getting paranoid.

But he’ll take the day off anyway.

He probably shouldn’t be as amused as he is, thinking about how much it’ll piss Derek off when he changes his routine. But he is.

Stiles texts them both to let them know, then turns off the sound and puts his phone in his pocket. If he’s going to take an unplanned day off, he’d better get twice as much work done today.

#

Stiles doesn’t see Derek when he runs at lunch, but he figures one of the three Hales is probably in the park somewhere. He pushes himself, running hard until he feels a sweat break out over his skin, his shirt clinging to his back. When he’s done, he pours the remains of his water bottle over his head and lets it trickle down his face and shirt, the fall air helping his skin chill.

It means he’s slightly wet, even after changing into work clothes, but he doesn’t care. He lets the air conditioner keep him cold as he dries, and it’s a good distraction for a time and lets the day go by. 

When he emerges from the museum, Peter Hale is lounging against the rail. He peels off and matches Stiles’s pace down the stairs.

“Oh look, a Hale,” Stiles says.

“You’d rather Derek or Cora, I’m sure, but I’m what you’ve got. They’re both busy at the moment.”

“Chasing Kate?” Stiles arches an eyebrow. “Or maybe chasing bunnies?”

“Dog jokes?” Peter rolls his eyes. “What has you in such a mood? If anyone should be angry, it should be me. After all, my pack has been telling secrets without my permission.”

“To keep me _alive_ ,” Stiles points out. “Where _is_ Derek anyway? He said he was going to follow me home today and come with me to go meet Scott at the airport.”

Both eyebrows go up, and Peter looks distinctly… amused. Stiles doesn’t know quite what to do with that look. “And when he follows you home, you’ll put a collar on him and he’ll sleep at your feet? It’s not that simple, Stiles. We don’t domesticate so easily.” Peter grins, baring teeth that are sharper than human but not quite as large as Derek’s werewolf transformation. The rest of him looks completely normal, but in that moment, Stiles is aware that Peter is not human at all.

The wolf falls away abruptly, and Peter shrugs. “Derek will be by with a car later. If it were up to me, I’d leave you to flail. You are a liability, and Kate is far more likely to find _us_ while hunting you if one of us is with you at all times. But Cora and Derek seem _fond_ of you, and unwilling to sacrifice a human to save our own asses from a hunter. I don’t approve. But they are my pack.”

“And I’m glad your pack has more human morals than you do,” Stiles says dryly. “Why do I get the feeling that you’d rather suck the marrow out of my bones than keep me alive?”

“I’d rather use you as bait, flush Kate out, and destroy her.” Peter is blunt. “I don’t care what happens to you in the process. I want to ensure that the Argents are done tracking us, and I want to live in peace. You, and your friends, are making this impossible.”

“Sacrificial lamb, that’s me.” Stiles stalks off, happy to leave Peter behind, even though that proves impossible when the older man catches up easily. Peter’s presence doesn’t make the subway any easier on him, and he stands there, waiting for the train, with his arms crossed tightly to keep away the blooming panic.

Once on the train, the wheels taunt him, teasing him with different phrases. _Peter will eat you. Derek hates you. She died on the track._ It’s a barrage of emotion, and by the time they get off the train at Stiles’s stop, he’s shaking from the intensity.

A hand falls to his shoulder when he steps free, and he jumps, jerking back and twisting to look. “Derek.”

“You’re early,” Peter comments from behind Stiles.

“What did you do to him?” Derek hisses. “His heart’s racing like a jackrabbit.”

“I haven’t hurt your pet. I was merely honest about his role in pack dynamics, since you seem so determined to include him in the pack.”

“He wants to use me as a sacrifice,” Stiles sees no point in sugar-coating the issue. “That’s not _creepy_ , that’s not even _stalker_. That’s outright psychopathic.”

“I’m hurt.” Peter sounds as if he’s pouting.

Derek growls softly. “No, you’re not. And you won’t.”

“You need me, Derek.” Peter’s voice is gentle, as if he doesn’t see the flash of blue in Derek’s eyes. Stiles wonders if they will fight, here in the subway station with people milling around them. He can see tension in Derek’s body, and while Peter seems calm, there is a layer of steel in his voice that wasn’t there before. “You need me to do what you can’t, in order to keep the pack safe. There’s a reason you let me live, and we are both well aware of it. I am your dark side.”

“We don’t sacrifice _anyone_.” Derek puts one hand on Stiles’s shoulder, pulling him out of the way, stepping between him and Peter. Eyes flash blue again; Stiles just barely catches a glimpse before he sees Peter’s hands go up as he moves out of the way.

“You’ll come around,” Peter murmurs. “When you realize it is the only way to keep our pack safe. Give him to her, we disappear, and she is done with us. Don’t you want to live without fear?”

Derek doesn’t answer, putting an arm around Stiles’s shoulder as he turns, pulling him towards the stairs, flowing with the crowd out onto the busy street. Stiles sucks in a breath and it comes dear, sharp inside his aching throat. A small whimper as he realizes that he’s sinking fast, one hand flailing out to hold onto something, anything.

“What’s happening?”

Concern in Derek’s voice, pulling Stiles closer, tilting his head back. Stiles can’t do anything but shake his head, one hand coming up to touch his throat in the universal sign of _holy fuck can’t breath now_. He doesn’t know whether Derek understands, but he has to just keep struggling to drag breath in past the panic.

Derek curls Stiles against his chest, and Stiles feels his heartbeat, steady and slow, through his suit. He closes his eyes and focuses on that, a different rhythm than the wheels of the train, and the heat… the warmth of Derek’s body bleeds through, warming Stiles as he shivers. 

“Breathe…” Derek murmurs, and Stiles _does_. He manages to inhale roughly and holds it for a count of ten before letting it out with a whoosh. The next one comes easier, and several seconds later he feels almost normal, his heart rate back to where it belongs.

It’s kind of a pity he has to move.

Both hands come up to press against Derek’s chest, and he pushes back. “Sorry about that.”

“What was that?” Derek waits a moment, but when Stiles starts walking towards his building, Derek keeps up easily.

“Panic attack. I’ve gotten them since my mom died, when things get… when things are too much.” Stiles shrugs. He hates showing weakness, especially in front of a guy he likes, but damnit, the guy has already proven that he’s not interested, so there’s no point in saving face. “Between the subway, and Kate, and your creepy as fuck uncle… I really don’t like the idea of being used as a gift from one psychopath to another.”

“Peter has redeeming qualities.”

“Yeah? I have yet to see them.” Stiles crosses his arms, feeling the tension slipping back in and trying to force it out. “Look, he doesn’t want me in your life. _You_ don’t want me in your life. Cora seems to think I’m her new-old bestie. And Kate just wants to kill me. Maybe I should just find a new place, a larger one that will give me better separation from Scott and Isaac when they’re having their little reunion weekends, and be done with it. She’ll never find me, and you won’t have to play bodyguard.”

“What happened to you helping us find Kate and avenge Laura’s death?” Derek pulls the door open to the building, holding it while Stiles goes through.

Stiles can almost imagine that he hears the chiding words _are you going back on your word_ hidden within that sentence, and he sighs. “I promised I would, didn’t I? The thing is, it doesn’t seem like you want my help. Except in the bait sense for Peter, the movie-date sense for Cora, and you… you just think I’m in the way.”

And of course, Derek’s walking away as Stiles speaks, heading up the stairs without responding. Stiles sighs and follows again. He can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that Derek almost seems comfortable in his building now. “Did you get my text earlier?”

“I’ll be here tomorrow.” Derek glances at him. “I’m not leaving Cora and your friend alone together.”

“He’s totally into Isaac, you don’t need to worry about anything,” Stiles assures him.

“That’s not what I’m worried about. If she’s keeping pets, I don’t need her to be picking out another one.” Derek pushes open the door as soon as Stiles unlocks it. “Go get changed. We’re stopping off at my place so I can get a change of clothes, then we’re getting something to eat. We’ll go pick up Scott after that. You’ll probably want me around when you try to explain.” He grins, and the brightness of it sideswipes Stiles all over again. He feels it coil in his gut and he tries to shove it away because really, a desperately pining crush mixed with the complete inability to get anywhere with it, along with running for his life? Not a great combination.

“Just in case I need you to show him, yeah.” Stiles nods several times, finally catching himself and stopping so he doesn’t mimic a bobblehead doll. Derek’s effect on his mind is getting worse every time they’re together, because nothing’s making him _hate_ Derek. He wants to, since Derek is so obviously just barely putting up with him, but he can’t.

If anything, he likes him even more.

“Just… let me go get changed. You can watch TV, or snack, or something. You know where it all is by now.” 

As Stiles closes the door to his room, he hears the TV fire up, and he tries not to think about just how domestic it is to have Derek there in his living room, making himself comfortable, as if he lives there or something.

#

When Scott comes into the baggage claim area, where they’d planned to meet, Stiles recognizes the look on his face. The soft smile, the slow burn of pleasure, the wide eyes that mean he’s slightly shocked at the attention of someone new and absolutely pleased by it as well.

He recognizes it because he’s seen it so many times since Scott and Isaac started dating. Except, Isaac isn’t here right now, and Scott’s talking to a woman Stiles doesn’t recognize.

“If werewolves exist, do witches?” Stiles whispers, but when he turns, Derek isn’t standing behind him. “Great, here’s hoping this is a safe space, because my guard dog just disappeared.” He rolls his eyes, and raises his hand, calling out, “Scott!”

“Stiles!” Scott lopes to meet him, throwing his arms open. Stiles grabs him and hugs him hard. It’s only been a couple of months, but it’s still seemed like forever. They thump each others’ backs and hold on maybe a little longer than they should. When they finally step apart, the woman is still standing there, a small fond smile on her lips, watching them.

There’s something familiar about her, but Stiles can’t place it. He nods slowly, and she seems to take that as an invitation, stepping closer.

“Hi, I’m Allison Argent.” She sticks her hand out and Stiles takes it automatically, mouth slightly open. Why is that name familiar? “I met Scott on the plane,” she continues. “I’m coming east to visit my aunt, and he kept me entertained on the way.”

“Stiles,” he says, leaving off his last name even though he’s pretty sure that if he knows Scott, this woman already knows their life stories. “Do you need a lift somewhere?”

“My aunt said she’d meet me, so I should be all set.” Her smile, when it comes, is blinding and kind of adorable. Stiles can almost understand the twitterpated expression on Scott’s face. She turns to Scott, and Stiles watches a cacophony of expressions crash over his face.

Apparently Scott decides on a wave as his best reaction, lifting his hand, and Allison’s hand lifts as well. They both have much the same adorable, fond, somewhat surprised smile as she takes a few steps back. Stiles takes advantage of the break in attention and nudges Scott towards the baggage carousel. “Do you have a suitcase?”

“Actually, I don’t. Just this.” He shows Stiles the two bags he’s already carrying: a familiar beat up laptop bag, and a duffle bag that Stiles thinks Scott’s owned since they were in high school together. “I figured I was shipping everything else. And I’ve got those yearbooks. And your old library card. Dude, why do you want your old library card?”

“Research.” Stiles is pretty sure that’ll be enough of an explanation for Scott, because really, when isn’t he looking into strange and esoteric things? “C’mon, we need to find Derek and the car. Last seen, the car was waiting in the place where ritzy things wait, but for all I know, it could’ve disappeared like my guard did.”

“Guard?” Scott twists in space, obviously looking for whoever Stiles is talking about.

“Long story that will get told when we get to the apartment. You are _not_ going to believe parts of it.” He picks up the duffle bag to carry it for Scott, and leads the way… somewhere. Hopefully somewhere useful, but out of the baggage claim area. He just barely catches Scott turning around to wave one more time, and in the distance he spots Allison as she smiles and waves back.

She’s with someone.

A woman that Stiles can only see from the back, and that’s all he really needs.

“Crap. _Kate_.” He grabs Scott’s hand and pulls. “We’ve got to get out of here. You have _no idea_ how bad this is right now.” Derek has to be around here somewhere. Stiles is sure that Derek must’ve sniffed Kate out and disappeared, and what was Kate doing talking to _Allison_ unless… oh fuck. “Oh _fuck_. Where did you meet Allison? How did you get started talking to her? _What did you tell her_?”

“What are you talking about? We were sitting together on the plane and _slow down_ , Stiles!” Scott yanks his hand free and stops, sliding out of the crowd and leaning back against the wall, fishing in his laptop bag. Stiles hears the wheeze in his breathe and guilt sucker punches him as Scott pulls out his inhaler and takes a puff, leaning with his eyes closed until he can catch a breath again.

“Sorry,” Stiles says quietly.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” Scott takes another puff and holds it in his lungs, watching Stiles the whole time before he lets out the breath slowly. “You’re not making sense.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Dude, I’m making so much sense, but you just don’t know it yet. And we really can’t talk about it here, because well, Kate’s…” He stops when Scott opens his mouth, and holds up one hand. “Save it for the car. Just trust me, okay? We need to find Derek and find the car, and then I promise, I’ll explain.”

They move again, threading their way through the crowd and into the waiting area in the garage. Stiles hears the footstep just as they approach the car, and turns just in time to see Scott grabbed and pushed up against the back side of the car, Derek in his face as they are hidden in shadows. “How do you know Allison Argent?” he growls.

Scott’s eyes go wide. “We sat next to each other on the plane. If you’re her boyfriend, I didn’t _do_ anything. I’ve got a boyfriend of my own. She’s pretty. And she’s really nice, and I had a great time talking to her while we were flying here. But I didn’t touch her, I swear, so don’t hurt me.”

“Derek.” Stiles touches his shoulder, and the growl stops him cold. “Derek!” he adds urgency to it, not wanting to raise his voice and attract attention. “They _just met_ and we need to explain to him what’s going on, and maybe next time you smell trouble could you _not_ just disappear and make us waste time looking for you?” He yanks and Derek moves with the touch, letting go of Scott. Stiles sighs.

“Derek, this is my best friend, Scott. Scott, this is Derek Hale, otherwise known as _the guy_.”

Neither of them says a word, so Stiles just opens the door to the car and points. “Get in. We’ve got a _lot_ of talking to do.”

Scott edges in to sit on one end of the bench seat, and Stiles quickly takes the middle to separate them, even though Derek squeezes close to Stiles on the other side. Stiles motions at the window, and Derek lets the guy know to roll it up, giving them privacy.

In the silence that follows, Stiles closes his eyes and takes a moment to breathe.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, now?” Scott sounds hurt, and it makes Stiles wince to hear it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Just… keep your voice down. We aren’t totally private here, but I’m not sure the apartment’s safe, either. Did you give Allison our address?” Stiles cranes his neck to look over at Scott, just in time to see a soft, sweet smile.

“Yeah. I did. I wanted her to come over and meet Isaac.” The smile fades. “Why don’t you like Allison? You don’t even know her, Stiles. I don’t even really know her yet, but I’m hoping to get to. She seems like someone I’m going to be good friends with. You didn’t much like Isaac at first, either, and you guys are good now.”

“When I’m not listening to reunion sex, yes, we’re fine,” Stiles allows. “And I’m probably going to love Allison someday, too, because you have an innate perfect judge of character, which means I’m hoping she’s not evil. Her aunt, on the other hand, would like to kill me. So Allison knowing where we live? Isn’t very helpful.”

Scott blinks. “I’m not following. Maybe it would help if you started at the beginning, because while you’ve mentioned someone trying to kill you, I’m not clear _why_ , what it has to do with the crush you’ve had for months, and where Allison comes into it.”

“Things kind of got out of control, fast.” Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose, hard. “Derek, I’m going to need your help with this. Which you knew, and that’s why you’re here, other than the trying to keep Kate from killing me thing.”

Derek nods once, sharply, and Stiles starts talking. He begins with the subway and skips over everything between that and the funeral, because that’s the point when things started to really unravel. He manages to explain Cora, and Kate, and Peter, and werewolves, and the way the Hales have been sticking close to him since. Derek fills in the pieces about Beacon Hills and the fire, and how Kate destroyed their family and that she’s after them again now.

In the end, Scott’s eyes are wide, and he keeps looking from Stiles to Derek and back again. “So you’re saying you’re a werewolf, and the girl I met on the plane is part of a family of psychotic werewolf hunters who want to kill you. And they want to kill Stiles, too, because he’s a witness and a loose end, and they can’t afford to let him run wild?”

“Exactly.” Derek’s tone puts an end point on the conversation, and Scott collapses back against the seat with a whoosh.

“What happened to let’s go to New York, start over, make new friends, and have a fun life, Stiles?” Scott asks.

“Chaos is fun?”

“Getting hunted isn’t.” Scott makes a face. “Dude, someone wants to kill you.”

“I’ve noticed.” Stiles looks down at his hands. “Trust me, I’ve noticed the part where my life is a bit upside down lately. I’m also hanging out with people who can’t stand me.”

Derek growls softly, but whatever he might say is lost when the car pulls to a stop in front of Stiles’s building and they all climb out.

As they all head inside, Scott gives Derek and his bag a strange look. Stiles realizes he left out a part.

“Derek’s been crashing on the couch. Well, him or Cora. I’d rather Peter doesn’t,” Stiles admits. “I am not getting over the bait conversation any time soon.”

“Right.” Scott manages to walk up the stairs backwards, staring at Derek. “You said _the guy_ was sleeping at your place, but it wasn’t as good as it sounded.”

“Something like that.” Stiles makes a motion with his hand, trying to silently get across to Scott that really, any further references to _the guy_ are completely not necessary. “So just… it’s late. Your room has sheets—my extra set. You can sleep, I can sleep, Derek can sleep, and in the morning we can figure out what to do next. And if we’re lucky, Kate doesn’t come to kill us during the night.”

“I won’t sleep.”

Stiles gives Derek a look. “I was joking about Kate coming to kill us during the night.”

Derek shakes his head. “I wasn’t, and I’m calling Cora.”

There really isn’t anything Stiles can do about it, he knows this by now, so he just lets the Hales take over while he makes sure Scott is settled and able to get in touch with his mom to let her know he’s safe, then get some sleep. They stay up talking for a little while, and in the end, Stiles crashes on Scott’s bed, listening to the familiar sound of raspy breath. For the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s home, and he sleeps without dreaming of Laura’s death.

#

In the middle of the night, Stiles dreams he hears the scrape of the door. He ignores it, turning closer to the warmth on the bed, moving again when someone pushes him out of the way. He only wakes in the morning when Scott yells in his ear. Stiles flails and slides from the bed, landing with a thump on the floor.

Cora laughs.

“Stiles…”

“That’s Cora.”

Cora waves. “Hey. Stiles, Derek crashed on your bed, since you weren’t in it. He muttered something about _stupid idiot_ and _probably an ex-boyfriend_ before he stormed off, but he hasn’t slept much yet, so expect him to be a bear when you wake him up soon. Did you leave any pancakes after breakfast yesterday?”

“I am not awake enough for this,” Scott mutters.

“Me neither, dude.” Stiles pushes his hands through his hair. “Pancakes. Um. No. I ate them. He didn’t make many. I mean, he made plenty, but both of us ate everything. But there’s still other leftover stuff—the stuff you bought to make sure we all didn’t starve—because we went out last night. He dragged me out. It’s like… dating a guy who hates me, which is really weird, and would be way less awkward if I didn’t—” He cuts off abruptly, which doesn’t stop the knowing smirk Cora gives him. He picks up a pillow and throws it at her. “Shut up, you. I’m beginning to think our relationship is less _new-old besties_ and more _little sister I never had_ at this rate.”

“You love me.” She holds out both hands, and helps them both up and out of bed properly. “Scott, I’m Cora, and really don’t let them fool you, I’m not a terrible person. And I’m not going to yell at you for being all chatty with Allison Argent, which means you’ll probably love me best soon enough. And yes, Peter knows, too, and we’re working on a plan.”

“My things are being delivered today.” Scott’s barely awake and not really processing yet, and Stiles can’t blame him, because Stiles isn’t quite there yet either.

“All part of the plan,” Cora assures him. “We’ve got a lot to do, so really, shower and let’s find breakfast even if it’s just cereal, and we all need to talk. Stiles, go wake Derek up.”

“Didn’t you just say that he’s going to be in a bad mood? Why should I be the one to wake him up?” Because that doesn’t make sense, although… “You’re right, he already hates me. It’s probably for the best.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Cora catches him, kissing his cheek on the way by. “I figured he’s least likely to bite your head off. Tell him he has a half hour before it’s his turn in the shower; that ought to give both you and Scott time to get through.”

They could be faster if Derek jumped in with Stiles, but there is _no way in hell_ he’s saying that out loud. Instead, he carefully knocks on his own bedroom door and nudges it open to see Derek sprawled across his double bed like he belongs there, tangled in the sheets, a pillow held like a body against him. Stiles swallows hard to see it, and lets out a slow breath.

“Derek.” He raises his voice, trying again, but the other man only rolls over, tugging the sheets up over his head and burying his face against the pillow. Stiles closes the door carefully and steps back out.

Damn, he wishes he were that pillow.

It takes the smell of bacon, which Stiles and Scott are managing to cook awkwardly, to summon Derek from the bed. He stumbles out and sits down at the table, and yeah, disheveled is also a great look on him. Scott shoots Stiles a look, and Stiles gives him a helpless shrug, because this is not helping.

The tiny apartment feels far too full off people when Peter shows up not all that long later, a sensation that isn’t helped by Stiles’s desire to get as far from him as possible, and there’s nowhere to actually go.

“He really said he was going to sacrifice you as bait?” Scott asks, leaning close to Stiles.

“I’m pretty sure he can hear everything we whisper,” Stiles replies, not bothering to hide their conversation. “And yes.”

Peter raises one hand in greeting, his smile disturbingly charming.

Definitely a psychopath.

“So, tell me, what plan have my darling betas and their pet humans come up with today?” Peter snags a piece of bacon and leans back in the chair. “And will it solve our problem and end this so we can go back to living our lives as planned?”

Cora shoots Derek a look, and Derek glares back at her. It’s obvious he isn’t pleased, although sour is an expression Stiles is getting used to. But this time, Derek’s lips thin slightly as he presses them together. “We’ve decided you’re right.”

“Wait, what?” Stiles jumps forward. “No, he is _not_ right. Human here, remember? Squishable. Whatever it is you guys do and are, she managed to _kill_ one of you.”

“And she still doesn’t know where we are, Stiles,” Derek says bluntly. “But she now knows where _you_ live, which means if she doesn’t realize we’re working together, we can get the jump on her.”

“So, we’re bait.”

Derek’s eyes flash blue. “You’re bait.”

Stiles wants to sit down. His legs are shaking and weak, and he leans back against the window sill, fingers roughly gripping the wood. “How did she kill Laura?” He hasn’t asked it before, but it seems pretty important now. “How did she manage to get a werewolf to fall over from a heart attack, right in the middle of rush hour trains?”

“Wolfsbane.” Cora’s voice is quiet. “There are a few different strains of it, but it can cause hallucinations, or heart problems, or well, there are a number of ways to work with it. It’s our achilles’ heel. Well, that and our human pack members. So yes, there’s a possibility she’s coming in with it. But she thinks you guys are human, and I figure that Scott didn’t give Allison any reason to think otherwise, right?”

“I didn’t even know werewolves existed before I got here.” Scott shakes his head. “As far as I knew, I was just coming out here to live with my best friend, and she’s a cute girl who’s nice, too. You don’t think she’s like her aunt, do you?”

“I can’t say. But, we need to use her.” Cora manages to look apologetic. “So yeah. She’s bait too.”

“Just lay it all out, okay?” Stiles points at the table, like there might be little figures and a map there to help explain. “Just tell us what’s going on, and we’ll tell you if we’re in for it or not. Because there’s a chance we’ll say no.”

Derek looks away, and the expression on Cora’s face is pitying. “No, there isn’t,” she says quietly. “Because part of this plan is based on having a pretty good guess what Kate’s going to do next. And if you want to stay alive, this might be the only way. Both of you. Maybe all three of you, because she’s not beyond using Allison as bait, too.”

Stiles lets his head fall back against the wall, feeling the thunk. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling. “Fine. Start talking. Then we can start getting things done and you guys can go back to your normal lives and forget you ever had to deal with me. And me… me and Scott can survive. Sounds good.”

He pays attention as they start laying out the details. His life depends on it.

As he watches Derek, though, he can see his wistful crushing dreams getting further away.

#

The plan, in the end, is simple. Scott texts Allison to meet for lunch, and Stiles pretends to plan to stay and meet the movers. There’s a high probability that the only person Kate wants to get her hands on right now is Stiles—after all, what nutcase is going to tell his roommate about werewolves? If she assumes that Stiles is alone, it’s a great time to come in and take care of him.

Except Stiles will go with Scott, and Kate will sneak in to find an apartment full of werewolves.

Stiles really hopes the blood comes out of the carpet. It’s definitely an event he doesn’t need to see, not the way Derek growls every time Kate’s name is said.

He doesn’t eat much for breakfast, picking at a bowl of cereal while Scott texts someone (probably Allison or Isaac, or maybe both) and Derek and Cora talk quietly in the living room. When Stiles looks over, he finds Peter staring at him, expression thoughtful. “What?” Stiles can’t keep the frustration from his voice. His place has been invaded, and he slept uncomfortably, and there are _too many people_ in this small space. He’s tired and just wants this over with as soon as possible so he can go back to his old life.

Somehow all the excitement of vengeance has gone away, and it’s tedium now. This is why he didn’t want to be a cop, like his dad. Eventually even the fun things get tedious.

Peter lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Is there anything else—anything at all—that you can remember about Kate’s encounter with Laura? It could help.”

Stiles pushes the spoon around in his bowl. “She walked up to Laura and it was like no one really noticed she was there. I think she touched her. There was something… something visible, then Laura fell, and the train came…” He swallows roughly. “Then the screaming, puking, and crying all began.”

So maybe it’s a bit more blunt than he needs to be, from the choked sound Cora makes, but Stiles isn’t feeling very kind this morning.

“It sounds as if her chosen form of wolfsbane is airborne,” Peter muses. “Remember that. She could easily attack us all with one puff, and we will all need to keep our wits about us.”

“You’re talking about killing my friend’s aunt,” Scott says.

“She’s trying to kill me,” Stiles protests.

“She did kill my family.” Derek’s voice is flat. “Kate Argent is bad news. I don’t know your girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

Derek continues as if Scott didn’t blurt that out. “…But she’s an Argent. They’re hunters, born and bred. If she’s related to Kate, she’s a hunter, too, which means she has no sympathy for my family at all.”

Stiles raises both hands. “No fighting. I am so done with fighting. The two of you are just… going to have to deal with each other for today, and after today, either Kate or I will probably be dead, and honestly, if I’m dead, I just won’t care about what you two say to each other. So save it until then.”

Scott blinks, and Stiles shrugs in response.

“You’re not going to be dead.”

Stiles pats Derek’s shoulder on the way by as he heads to his room. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Just be happy that we should be done with this soon. And I promise, I’ll stop stalking you in the park, too.”

He’s in the middle of pulling on a different pair of jeans when the door opens and someone slips inside. Cora is leaning against the closed door by the time he twists around, legs tangled in denim. He flails before falling back and landing with a thump. She grins.

“That happy to see me, huh?”

“I’m changing,” Stiles points out as he pushes himself up and manages to get his jeans up and buttoned. “Give a guy some space.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Cora says. “I’m not really looking, and you don’t actually care about being stark naked in front of me, so you don’t need to freak out. But, Stiles…” Her voice trails off, expression serious and somewhat sad.

He feels guilty, like there’s something he’s done, so he spreads his hands and shrugs. “What?”

“I like you,” she says quietly. “And I don’t want to stop being friends after this. I wouldn’t be working so hard to keep you alive if you were just some stupid human that I didn’t care about, and Derek wouldn’t be either. Peter… I can’t say what’s going on in his head, and honestly, I think he’s just trying to stay in our good graces, and I’m sorry he wants to use you as bait. But it’s halfway decent, as stupid plans go. And you won’t be here, so that’s the best part. You’ll be out of the way, and you’ll be _safe._ So we’ll celebrate later with a movie or something. And I want to meet Isaac. And maybe Allison, if it turns out she’s not psychotic like her aunt. Okay?”

“Okay.” The word comes out before he thinks better of it, and he barely has time to get his arms open before Cora is wrapped around him, hugging him hard. She presses her lips to his cheek, then holds on, face buried against his throat.

They are still standing that way when the door opens again. Stiles glances up to see Derek’s glare before the door slams shut again.

“He’s jealous,” Cora murmurs, patting Stiles’s cheek.

Stiles laughs. “He’s sick of me being around all the time. I don’t think he believes that it’s all going to be over soon.”

Cora tilts her head and looks at him. “Stiles, I’m serious. He’s _jealous_. He just has absolutely no way of showing it in any sort of a productive manner. Don’t call yourself a stalker; you’ve got nothing on Derek when he wants to find something out. So if you really do have a thing for him? Go for it.”

“Is he listening to you give me this pep talk?” Stiles glances at the closed door, wondering if his crush is being aired out, or if Derek’s growling on the other side.

“Hope not, since he’ll want to kill me later if he is.” Cora shrugs. “Let’s get things moving. I want this to be over with so you’ll be safe, and we can focus on the fun things, like introducing me to your friends. And you can figure out what you want to do about my brother because if he is _not_ going to snap you up, I’m throwing my hat into the ring, because you are a hell of a guy. Okay?”

“Assuming I survive this, okay,” Stiles agrees, more for the introducing her to his friends than the other. He adores her, but she’s just not… she’s not Derek. Who is grouchy, irritating, and at the same time, intelligent, interesting, and he still likes him. Damn it.

Scott finishes packing his duffle bag full of food and some ice packs. Stiles just shakes his head. “It’s not a cooler. This is a recipe for disaster.”

“Everything only needs to stay cold until we get to the park, right?” Scott tosses the bag over his shoulder. “Besides, I’ve already got my inhaler in my pocket and everything else we could need, and how else would we carry a decent blanket? Plus,” he turns his phone towards Stiles, and Isaac waves.

“Hey.” Isaac grins and it’s so easy-going that Stiles can’t help but smile back at him.

“Hey yourself. Have you been introduced around? Everyone, this is Isaac.”

Scott lifts the phone as Stiles explains, then quickly pulls it back from Cora’s questing grasp. “Oh no, we’re going out now. You’re staying here. And yes, Isaac, I’ll explain later.” At a soft growl from Derek, he quickly adds, “At least, I’ll introduce you to everyone. Let’s get going, we need to pick up Allison.”

Walking with someone who’s having a video conference at the same time is about as good as walking alone. Scott’s paying more attention to Isaac than he is to Stiles, so Stiles figures it’s a good time to get in touch with his dad. He picks up on the third ring, half-asleep until Stiles apologizes.

“I just wanted to say I love you,” Stiles says quickly. “You can get back to sleep if you want.”

“Stiles, you never call out of the blue to say _I love you_. Not unless you’re in trouble or want money, or both. Did Scott get there okay last night?”

Stiles cradles the phone close to his ear. “Oh yeah. He’s talking to Isaac right now, probably arranging things I don’t even want to know about for the weekend, and we’re on our way to meet up with this girl Scott was talking to on the plane. Allison Argent.”

“Argent.” The sheriff sounds like he’s rolling the name around. “Any relation to Chris Argent? He just moved back into that area after being away for a while.”

“I don’t know.” Stiles files that away as a line of questioning for later. “She’s out here to visit with her aunt, I guess. I only got the short version of the story while we were at baggage claim last night. Is he a friend of yours?”

“Not exactly. He’s a bit younger than me, and we had a few run-ins before he moved away.” Stiles can hear paper rustling, and he knows his dad is giving up on sleep. “Seems like all the old families are coming back,” the sheriff muses. “Argents. Hales.”

“Wait, the Hales are _back_?” Stiles is confused, since as far as he knows, the Hales are right here, with him. The crowd surges forward and he follows Scott onto the train automatically, both of them involved in their own calls. “I’m going on the subway, Dad. If I lose you, I’ll call back.”

“I’ve been looking into the fire, since that insurance adjuster came by, that’s all.” Papers rustle again. “He didn’t leave me a good contact number. I’m going to be sending some guys out to the house later this week. We went over it with a fine tooth comb, looking for arson, but never found any evidence.”

“What makes you think it might be arson now?” Stiles chews on his lower lip.

“Sometimes when things come up, you just have to take a second look.”

“Well, if you find anything, let me know, okay?” The big curve is coming up, so Stiles talks fast. “I’m going to lose you in the tunnel, Dad, so just don’t trust that insurance guy, okay? And I’ll call you again about what you find out. Tell me everything. I love you!” He’s not sure exactly when the disconnect happens, but by the time they emerge from the curving tunnel and slide into the next station, his phone call is over.

He just hopes his dad didn’t miss anything he said.

He glances over to see Scott still talking to Isaac, periodically holding up the phone to show him the interior of the subway. “They have the T in Boston,” Stiles points out. “It’s not like he’s never been on the subway before.”

“It’s not New York.” The car sways, and Scott flings out his free hand to grab the overhead rail.

“It’s okay,” Isaac calls out, obviously yelling a bit to be heard. “I don’t care what he’s saying. I’ve missed him.”

“If you two are sickeningly cute this weekend, I might barf,” Stiles says. “See this? This is why I need to find someplace else to be while you’re here. You two are adorable.”

“Stiles thinks I should come visit you,” Scott adds.

“I want to see New York and your new place.”

Stiles chews on his lower lip. “There might be something going on that could be a problem,” he says slowly. “But we’ll keep you posted on that, okay? We’ll know more after lunch, I think.” He pauses, then has to ask because he’s curious. “Did Scott tell you we’re meeting up with this girl he met on the plane yesterday?”

“Allison!” Isaac grins. “I’ve met her. She actually moved to Beacon Hills just before I left. We spent some time talking one day in the park. She’s nice. It’ll be good to see her again. If I’d known she was coming east, I would’ve told her to keep an eye on Scott for me. Since he hates planes.”

“I don’t hate planes. I hate flying.” Scott makes a face. “Actually, I hate being miles above the ground. There’s this thought that I might _fall_. Ah dude, tunnel coming up again. I’ll call you back when we get to the station.”

Stiles reaches out, holding on while Scott sways when the train hits the curve. It takes a moment but Scott manages to fumble his phone back into his pocket, then he grins. “This is awesome,” he says.

If it weren’t for the crazy woman trying to kill him, not to mention three werewolves that Stiles can’t completely figure out, he’d agree. So he just grins. “We’re together again, so of course it is, dude. Of course it is.”

#

Allison is waiting as they exit the station onto the street level. For a moment, Stiles thinks she’s Kate, but he quickly realizes her hair is darker and curlier, and she is definitely younger. Plus, she’s looking right at them with a quick smile that lights up her entire expression and makes Stiles think that there can’t be a bad bone in her body.

He wonders if that’s true, or if it’s clever camouflage, then promptly hates himself for being so suspicious now. He used to question things, but never like this, not until Kate wanted to kill him.

“Hang on.” Scott holds up one hand before she can hug him, and her expression goes confused as he pulls out his phone and touches the screen, holding it facing Allison rather than looking at it himself. Stiles can only watch as Allison’s expression lights up again, and she blows a quick kiss.

“ _You’re_ Scott’s Isaac? This is great, I’m so glad to see you again. Are you coming with us?”

Because yes, this is Stiles’s life, going on a picnic with his best friend, a girl who is related to a killer, and his best friend’s boyfriend’s virtual self over the phone. On the other hand, except for the potential death part, it’s a lot simpler than what he’s had for the last week, so he resolves to relax and try and enjoy it.

They walk towards the park, Stiles leading the way and Scott and Allison trailing behind, heads bent over the phone with Isaac. Stiles moves as slowly as he can, but the people of New York aren’t tolerant for slow moving tourists who aren’t paying attention. He finally snaps, “Can you just put Isaac in your pocket until we get there?” People look at him strangely, but Scott flushes and straightens up.

“You’re right,” he says, tucking the phone into his pocket. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Stiles doesn’t miss how Scott and Allison link hands as they walk, which is great, because his best friend gets more action than Stiles even when his boyfriend is a whole state away. 

He could go home later and snuggle Cora, he supposes. But Stiles really expects this all to be over after today. Kate will be taken care of and the Hales will disappear. At least he’ll have food to remember them by, until he and Scott finish eating it all (Isaac’s arrival should easily kill off any lingering leftovers, he figures).

“So this is the park where you run?” Scott stands at the gate, looking at the paths that lead off through the trees. There are a few people running now, although Stiles is pretty sure Derek won’t be one of them, since Derek’s back at their apartment.

“It is. If you look that way,” Stiles points, “you can just barely see the museum. It’s the thing with the big steps and columns. Derek works around here somewhere, too, but I don’t know where.”

“Derek?”

Stiles remembers, just in time, that Allison might be trouble and manages to paste on a smile. “This guy I run with sometimes at lunch.” It’s only half a lie, and he hopes Scott takes the hint and doesn’t keep going.

“Was that the subway station where it happened?” Scott twists around, looking back where they had come from. He has his phone in his hand again and starts turning in a slow circle, showing Isaac everything.

Stiles isn’t sure what to say to that, with Allison’s expression so clearly asking _what_ happened. He opens his mouth, closes it, tries to get a handle on his own words. “There was this thing,” he says, hands spread. “Someone died. And no, there’s another station a block that way, for a different train.” He points the opposite direction down the street. “I was trying to run an errand. I haven’t been back there since.”

“My aunt told me that someone fell onto the tracks in one of the stations. Were you there when that happened?” Allison’s expression is pure sympathy. “She was trying to warn me to be careful, as if I don’t know to stay away from the edge. I can take care of myself.”

“She definitely can!” Isaac’s voice comes out of the speaker. “You should’ve seen her when this guy tried to steal her purse in the park. It’s how we got started talking. She almost broke his elbow.”

Allison shrugs. “It’s just self-defense.”

Stiles makes a mental note that Allison is officially dangerous, and whether she’s her aunt’s pawn or not, he needs to watch out for her. And find some way to keep Scott and Isaac from forming the official Allison Argent fan club, because they both look absolutely twitterpated.

“Over there looks good.” Scott leads the way into the park, picking out a spot of grass and setting the phone up against the duffle bag so Isaac seems to be sitting down with them. “We’ve got kind of a hodge-podge,” he says as he sets out the food. “We just went through the fridge and brought whatever looked good.”

“Most of it is from Little Italy,” Stiles adds, hoping Scott won’t go into explanations of _why_ his fridge is filled with random food when he just arrived. “It’s easier than cooking all the time.”

“I think I’ll be doing most of the cooking with my aunt,” Allison admits with a wry smile. “She’s never really been the matronly type. I think Dad wasn’t thrilled that I was coming out here to be with her, but she wants me to apprentice in her business. Which Dad both approves of and doesn’t approve of at the same time. I kept asking him if I could learn from him, but once I got to a certain point, he didn’t want to let me go any further.”

Stiles blinks, because he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer to the question before he asks. “What’s the family business?”

“Defense.” A small smile flickers. “My dad works with the government. We also do training in self-defense.”

And Allison is here to work with Kate, who is hunting the Hales, and Stiles suddenly has a really bad feeling about this lunch. They are sitting down with the enemy, breaking bread, and she might poison them. Fuck.

Stiles lets Scott bring out the food, showing Allison what’s available, and asking Isaac what he’s eating to join them for lunch. It gives him the chance to pull out his phone and text Cora. _Allison’s here to be part of Kate’s business. I don’t know if she knows about werewolves. It’s not something I can just ask._

He takes the plate of cold lasagna that Scott hands him and tucks into it. It’s good, but he’s not really hungry, not right now. What Stiles really is, is antsy. He wants to get up, to move, to run, to _do_ something. Sitting around waiting while people fight in his apartment isn’t good for him. And he figures there must be fighting going on, since Cora hasn’t answered him yet. Maybe her phone’s broken, and lying in a pool of blood on his apartment floor.

He really hopes that if there’s blood, it’s _Kate’s_ blood.

What has his life become?

His phone buzzes and he picks it up to read the text. _She hasn’t shown. Scott’s stuff is here. No sign of Kate. Peter went out, me and Derek are waiting._

Stiles smiles slightly at the idea of Derek hanging out on the couch, bored out of his mind again. _I’ll let you know if I see anything weird._ He glances around, not really caring what Scott and Allison and Isaac are talking about. Instead he scans the park, taking in the people he recognizes because they are here every day during lunch, somehow part and parcel of his afternoon run.

Except _him_.

He touches the keys very lightly, trying to make it look like he’s frowning at a particularly hard level of Candy Crush. _Why would Peter be here?_

_Peter’s THERE?_

He can almost hear the confusion in Cora’s voice. The next text comes through from Derek.

_Don’t move, we’re on our way._

Stiles glances up to see Peter looking at him, a small smile lifting his lips. He nods to his companion, and Stiles’s heart drops. A woman. With curly brown hair, talking to Peter like they are _friends_. “Scott.” He keeps his voice low, but it’s no matter. He knows Peter can hear him. He knows Peter can hear too much, too well, too easily, and he bets Peter knows that his pulse just skyrocketed.

He touches his phone without looking, wanting to text _too late_ and praying that’s what it sends after autocorrect is done with the words.

“Hm?” Scott glances over at him, and Stiles keeps his expression as neutral as possible.

“I’m going to assume Allison’s on our side,” Stiles says quietly. “Pick up your phone and _run_.”

He shoots to his feet, reaching out to grab the back of Allison’s collar, trying to tug her up as she gives him a bewildered look. “What’s going on?” she asks.

“Run!” Stiles repeats, hissing it quietly. “I am _not_ joking, your life could depend on it.”

Scott grabs her other hand, hauling her to her feet, and Stiles tries not to think about the fact that if he wants to, he’s pretty sure Peter can outrun them all.

But that would call attention to himself, and Stiles is also pretty sure that neither Kate nor Peter really want to cause a memorable scene here. So the more chaos Stiles causes, the less likely it is that Kate’s going to follow him.

They leave the duffle bag behind, and Stiles grabs Scott’s hand and pulls, leading them down a path that’s a little out of the way but dumps them right into the main thoroughfare of the park. They are quickly surrounded, swallowed up by a crowd of people walking along, eating fries from food trucks and talking loudly over each other.

Scott is gasping for breath, patting his pocket to dig out his inhaler and take a puff. Allison hardly looks ruffled.

“What _was_ that?”

There are two choices here: trust her, or assume she’s with Kate, but right now, Allison looks honestly bewildered. Either she’s an amazing actress, or she has no idea.

Stiles lifts both hands. “Hear me out. Your aunt wants to kill me.”

Allison blinks. “My aunt _what_?”

“Do you know about werewolves?”

She takes a step back, her stance changing. Stiles can see the shift from innocent girl to warrior just in how she balances on the balls of her feet, ready to react. “Why are we talking about werewolves?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He pushes his hands through his hair. “I saw your aunt kill one, so I’m a loose end. Which puts me in danger, only it’s worse, since I’ve gotten to be friends with the werewolves involved. And let me say, after experiencing both sides of the coin, I have to say I side with them. They haven’t tried to eat me, but she…”

“She _what_ , Stiles?”

“She pushed Laura Hale under a train.” He keeps his voice level, his hands in fists by his sides, ready to bring them up if he needs to fight. Not that he can do anything against her if she’s as strong as Isaac said, but he’s still wary and ready to try his damnedest. He is _not_ going to go down without a fight.

“The woman from the subway?” Allison’s nose wrinkles. “Why would she do that?”

“Because Laura was a werewolf!” Stiles takes a deep breath, lowering his voice. “Keep up, Allison. The important part here is that Peter’s the alpha of Laura’s pack and this is the part I really don’t understand: I just saw Peter talking to Kate like they are _friends_ , which is incredibly suspicious considering when I left Peter in my apartment this morning, he was supposed to be waiting there as a surprise for Kate when she snuck in to kill me because you told her that Scott’s stuff was being delivered today. Which you told her, right?”

“She’s my aunt and one of my best friends. I tell her everything.” Allison takes a step back, her hands up. “She wouldn’t do that. That’s now how it works. There’s a whole _code_. We only hunt the ones who need to be hunted. And she’d _never_ hunt a human.”

“Are you absolutely positive about that?” Stiles asks. “I mean, is there ever a case where someone would blow wolfsbane in the face of a werewolf while she waited for the subway, and then push her down on the rails?”

Allison slowly shakes her head. “Not really. No.”

“Then we definitely have a problem, because _that_ is what I was witness to.” He keeps his voice even. “I’m pretty sure they don’t want to attack us in a crowd. Whatever they are planning or doing, she’s going to want to keep you safe, and they won’t want more witnesses because that would only compound the problem. So we’re safe here.”

“Dude.”

Stiles looks at Scott. “Was there a part of that you didn’t understand? Did Isaac get it all, because if we survive this, I am probably in deep shit for outing the wolves.”

“No, _dude_.” Scott grips Stiles arm and jerks his chin, and Stiles looks in that direction. Kate is standing there, her hands hanging loosely by her side. “That’s Allison’s aunt.”

“First time I’ve seen her face, but yeah, from the way she’s looking at us, I’d say that’s her.”

“She has a knife in her sleeve.” Allison looks absolutely casual, her voice soft and low. She isn’t even looking at Kate. “From the way she’s standing, she probably has one in each hand, and the long sleeves are to disguise it. She can throw one and hit you in the chest before you can react.”

“So, is that you threatening me with your aunt’s knives, or trying to help me out?” Stiles asks.

Allison smiles slightly. “Trying to help. If she’s about to kill a human in the middle of the park, there’s a problem, and I’m pretty sure my apprenticeship is over.”

“Where’s Peter?” 

Fuck, Stiles forgot about Peter until Scott brings him up. He can feel the nerves rising under his skin, and all he wants to do is run, but he’s afraid that even a jackrabbit start isn’t going to get him away from Kate’s knife. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m more worried about the psycho with knives right now. Sorry, Allison.”

“It’s okay.” 

They stand there, trying to look like three young men and women chatting, not staring at Kate, not obviously looking around for Peter. It almost seems to be working, until Stiles’s phone buzzes.

He pulls it from his pocket, turning slightly as he looks down, and something strikes him in the arm and another something in his side, swift and sharp. Pain blossoms as blood wells up and Stiles goes to his knees yelling out, phone still clutched tightly in his hand.

He wanted chaos to hide in. Now he has chaos.

“Stiles. Dude.” Scott crouches next to him and Allison is gone, Stiles has no idea where. People are screaming, scattering before something happens to them. The world spins and Stiles lowers his head.

“It hurts.”

“Kate’s gone,” Scott whispers. “She took off after she threw the knife and Allison took off after her.”

“Where’s Peter?”

“Peter’s right here.” The alpha werewolf crouches down in front of Stiles, lightly touching his cheek. “Isn’t it handy that when someone screamed for a doctor, I replied? I’ll make sure you’re completely safe, Stiles.”

“Scott, get me out of here.” The world may be moving a bit more than Stiles would like, but he’s pretty sure that with Scott’s help, they can walk away. Anywhere away from Peter.

The phone in his hand buzzes again, and Stiles wants to take a look at it. “Derek’s coming,” he says quietly.

“How sweet, the dark prince riding to your rescue. I wonder what he’ll think when he runs into his ex-girlfriend?” Peter tsks. “By the time he makes it to you, I suspect you will have already bled out. It’s so easy to nick an artery. What a pity that he’ll find you here, lying in a pool of your own blood, because I was unable to save you.”

“He’ll know the truth,” Scott says.

Peter bares his teeth. “You’ll both be dead,” he hisses. “I hold your lives in my claws, and I will destroy you both. When I take care of Kate and that little girl, my pack will be safe. No interference from humans or hunters.”

“You don’t think that someone’s going to notice that a dude was stabbed and then slashed by animal claws in the park in broad daylight?” Stiles speaks slowly, trying to keep his voice clear. His phone buzzes again, and he tries to move it so he can see, but it slips from his fingers, hitting the pavement with a crack.

“This is New York; people see what they want to believe they see.” Peter offers a lazy shrug. “Right now, they see a doctor working with a stab victim. I’m a good samaritan; that’s all they’ll remember when they offer their condolences after I fail to save your life.”

Stiles tries to reach for his phone; Scott keeps him from faceplanting against the pavement. “I am _not_ going to make your life easier by dying,” Stiles says as firmly as he can manage.

He just barely hears Peter laugh when it is overshadowed by a thick growl. Something crashes through the underbrush, barreling into Peter in a blur of teeth and fur. Scott shouts and falls backward, pulling Stiles with him.

By the time he hits the ground, the pain is too much, and Stiles lets the world go black.

#

“…not leaving his side, sir. Of course. I’ll call you as soon as anything changes, I promise. Sunday, yes, I’ve got it. I can email you a hotel name, because there’s not really any space… of course. Right.”

Stiles lies there, listening to the cadence of Scott’s voice and the nearby soft chirps and beeps of machinery. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but the smell is antiseptic and his butt is naked against scratchy sheets. It’s obvious that he’s in the hospital and that he has missed a whole lot of action.

On the other hand, he’s alive, and he counts that as a good thing.

He waits until Scott goes silent for several minutes before he tries to speak. “Scott…” Stiles is hoarse; he can’t manage much more than a rough whisper, his throat dry. He opens his eyes just as Scott falls into the chair that’s pulled close to the bed.

His friend looks worse for wear, his chin covered in thin stubble, and Stiles blinks to see it. At least a day, maybe more. Crap. “What day is it?”

“Thursday.” Scott gives him a wry smile. “They said you’re doing better than expected, which Cora says is entirely due to her adoring care for you.”

Stiles glances around the small room. “Where is she?”

“Out, for a bit. I made her take Derek to get food, because he gets even worse when he doesn’t eat.” Scott hesitates. “They’ve both been here since you were brought in. Allison’s been here for some of it, but she’s gone to pick Isaac up at the train station. He blew off his Thursday and Friday classes to come out early. He’s worried about you.”

Thursday. Stiles rolls that over in his mind, trying to worry at it and understand it. Thursday, with Isaac on the way and Allison somehow integrated into this strange pack of not-exactly-friends and Cora and Derek still around. “Why are Cora and Derek even still around?”

“Your dad will be here on Sunday.” Scott turns around and picks up a cup from the nearby table. It looks somehow familiar, and the straw is chewed slightly at the end. “Here. You probably want this.”

“Is it mine?” Stiles doesn’t comment on how Scott just avoided his question completely.

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness a lot,” Scott says. “And they said you probably aren’t remembering most of our conversations right now.”

“How many times have you told me Isaac and my dad are coming?”

“Five times and just the once. Your dad just got his tickets and schedule set. He’s taking off the next week of work. He was all set to rush out here, but I told him you weren’t dying.” Scott makes a face. “We didn’t think he should be here until we had a better story to tell that didn’t involve werewolves. Or until we could ask you what you thought we should tell him. And you weren’t dying. We _knew_ you weren’t dying.”

“That’s a relief.” Stiles wonders how many times he’s heard parts of this, whether he’d actually _said_ not to let his dad come out to New York yet. Probably. It sounds like something he’d say. “It’s good to know I’m not dying.”

“How are you feeling?” Scott leans in, watching him intently.

“Like an animal in the zoo.” Stiles reaches out with the arm that’s not immobilized and pushes Scott away. “Dude, give a guy some personal space.”

“You sound better.”

“Does that mean I might remember this one?” He crooks his fingers and Scott finally supplies the water. Stiles has to admit it tastes good; his throat is dry and scratchy. “Did the knife in my gut hit anything important?”

“Your side, and no, it just bled, but everything’s okay. No surgery.” Scott shakes his head. “If there had been surgery, your dad would’ve been on a red eye, and you know it. Either Kate has terrible aim, or she wasn’t actually aiming to kill you.”

“I think she knew Peter would kill me, and she didn’t have to get her hands dirty with a human soul,” Stiles says dryly. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Again?” Scott sighs. “This is three times, dude. I did it twice before they told me that the painkillers were messing up your head and that’s why you couldn’t remember a thing I’d said.”

Stiles makes an impatient motion, and Scott starts talking.

“Derek killed Peter.”

“ _What_?” Stiles interrupts. “You couldn’t lead up to that a bit more gently?”

“It was pretty much the first thing that happened.” Scott points to a series of bandages along Stiles’s arm. “Peter slashed you up; I don’t think you even noticed since you’d already been hit by the knife at that point. Then this wolf came out of nowhere and attacked him, and next thing I knew, Peter was gone and there was _another_ wolf. I didn’t even see him change shape. So Derek and Peter fought, as wolves, and Cora and I dragged you out of the way. People in the crowd got it all on video, but no one really seems to remember Peter being human, or what happened to the nice doctor who tried to help you after you were hit the first time.”

“People remember what they want to remember,” Stiles murmurs.

“Exactly. All the news said was that there were two wild giant dogs in the park, and one died but the other got away. Then the police and an ambulance arrived, because Isaac was still on the phone in my pocket when it all started, so he called 911 and managed to convince them he was calling for someone in another state. They almost didn’t believe him until they started getting calls from other people in the park, then they sent someone out right away.” Scott sits back, relaxing in the hospital chair.

“Where was Allison in all this?” Because as fuzzy as the whole thing is before he passed out, Stiles does remember that he was out with Scott and Allison (and Isaac, sort of) and that Cora and Derek weren’t there.

“She took off after Kate as soon as you were hit.” Scott gets that goofy smile on his face again. “She’s amazing. She managed to take down her aunt and disarm her and capture her and her dad’s coming out east to deal with the problem. Kate won’t trouble the Hales again.”

“Can we _trust_ them?” Stiles has to ask. “Allison’s a _hunter_ , and she’s Kate’s niece, and doesn’t that make her dad Kate’s brother? Don’t they want the Hales dead just as much as Kate did?”

Scott looks affronted. “I trust _Allison_. She said that Kate violated the code, both back when the Hale house burnt, and now by tracking them across the country when they hadn’t done anything. If the werewolves are just trying to live their lives, the Argents will leave them alone.” He shrugs. “And Derek said she wasn’t lying.”

Somehow Stiles trusts what Derek said more than what Allison said, but he’s not going to point that out to Scott. Instead, he falls back against the pillow, trying not to let the room spin. “Crap. I think I’m going out again.”

Scott tangles his fingers with Stiles’s. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly. “And if you forget again, I’ll tell it all to you again. Or Cora will, or Derek, or Isaac or Allison when they get here. We’re sticking with you, okay?”

“I know.” Because Stiles knows that no matter what, he’ll always have Scott as his best friend and by his side. It’s comforting to keep that knowledge close as he lets sleep claim him again.

#

When he wakes up, someone is holding his hand and is poking his side lightly. “Quit it,” Stiles mumbles.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Stiles blinks, focusing slowly on Cora’s face. “I should have known it would be you.”

“Who else would it be? My brother hasn’t admitted yet that he’d like to sit here holding your hand.” She wrinkles her nose. “Or at least, he hasn’t let us catch him at it yet. For the record, it’s Friday afternoon, you’ve been awake four times since Thursday—God only knows why Thursday is stuck in your head—and currently I’m the only one here. Well, me and Derek.” She sets a plush black wolf on Stiles’s chest. “I named him for you.”

“I remember Thursday, that’s why.” Even if he doesn’t remember the intervening waking periods, he remembers Thursday and talking to Scott. He has a vague memory of waking up one time and immediately demanding to know the date and time, and Isaac pushing him back before he tried to get out of bed. He also remembers Cora whispering to him that Isaac and Scott were seriously cute together. “I remember some things. I remember most of the important things.”

“Wolves, hunters, stab wounds, oh my?” Cora asks.

“Something like that, yes.” Stiles sifts through the things that are left in his mind. “Kate’s in custody, but not police custody. Peter’s dead. No one has told me _why_ Peter teamed up with Kate.”

“Yes, yes—and Derek’s our alpha now, for all two of us there are in our pack,” Cora sighs softly, her hand warm against Stiles’s skin. “And we don’t know _exactly_ why Peter went nuts, but we’ve managed to look into enough things that we think we’ve pieced together a halfway decent picture. They weren’t always in cahoots. I mean, he didn’t have anything to do with burning down our home, which is good, because I think Derek would’ve gone and killed him again if he did.”

“Are you going to tell me what he _did_ do?” Stiles prompts, adding a small _get on with it_ hand motion.

“It started with the fire.” Cora suddenly looks younger, and Stiles wishes he could put his arm around her. Instead, he tugs his hand free from hers and pats the bed next to himself. She gives him a dubious look, but he just taps it again and she eventually climbs up next to him, stretching out, her head on his shoulder. “He was there, when the house burned, and he was injured,” Cora says softly. “We knew that. That’s how we all ended up split up. I was put into foster care, and Derek and Laura ran away. But Peter was put into rehabilitation—a long term care facility. He couldn’t speak, and he had burns over fifty percent of his body, and they thought it was a miracle he was alive. When he healed, he came to find me, and we came here. And I thought everything was okay.

“But Laura talked to him when we got here. She _really_ talked to him, and she listened to the things he said that fell between the cracks, and the things he didn’t say, and she wrote it down or we wouldn’t know this at all. Derek found it in her things when he went looking.” Cora smiles wryly. “He tore the place apart, trying to figure out _why_ Peter would ally with someone like Kate. We didn’t need anything. We were all set. We had a lawyer who helped us get the insurance money, we were safe. We were well off actually. We were _fine_.”

“So what did Laura say?” Stiles manages to get his better arm around her shoulders and he can pat her back in what he hopes is a soothing motion.

“Peter killed my mother.” Cora’s voice is soft and muffled against his shoulder. “He said it was a mercy killing, that she was so burnt she would have died, and that she told him to take her power, but I don’t know if I trust him. The thing is, Laura thought maybe it made him insane, becoming the alpha when he was so near death himself. I think maybe he did it because he knew it was the only way he could survive, so he stole her power and made _sure_ she died, just so he could live.” She drags in a rough breath, and Stiles squeezes her shoulder as she lets it out slowly. “The thing is, he told Laura that he didn’t trust her. That she was supposed to be alpha after Talia—that’s my mom—died. And that he was just waiting for her to kill him. And Laura… Laura was strong. _Really_ strong. He laughed and he told her that Derek and I were perfect little betas, that we’d never know anything or do anything but that she was dangerous. He told her he was going to make sure she could never take his power away.

“We don’t know for sure what happened after that, but right after that, Laura died, and Derek and I were dependent on Peter in our grief, and then you showed up and the whole boat got upset again. We think… we think Peter saw you as a threat, because he knew Derek had been talking about this guy, then that guy turned out to be _you_ and you saw Laura die, and it all just started to unravel. Because you wanted to fix things, so Peter wanted to… he wanted his pack to be safe. So he needed to double-cross you to get Kate to kill you, and double-cross Kate so we’d kill _her_ , and then he’d have me and Derek and that would be that.”

“Complicated,” Stiles says quietly. “I’m sorry about your mom. And… and your uncle.” Because even if he was creepy, he was still one of her last remaining relatives. “It’s just me and my dad, so I know what it’s like being all two against the world. And my dad isn’t half as grumpy as Derek is.”

“We’re not alone,” Cora says plainly. “Peter was right about that. Once we met you, things started opening up. Changing, and he had no control over who we talked to outside our pack. You, Scott, even Isaac now since he knows, and Allison, maybe, if we can trust her.”

“Scott does.”

“Scott…” Cora opens her mouth, closes it, and makes a soft _hmph_ noise. “I don’t even know what to think about Scott and Isaac and Allison.”

“When you say it like that, neither do I.” Stiles remembers what it was like when Scott fell for Isaac, how sudden and how brilliant it was in Scott’s eyes, and that hasn’t faded. But this… he makes a noise of frustration. “I’m not even going to think about it.”

“Might be easier that way,” Cora agrees. “Your friend puts his heart right out there for everyone to see, doesn’t he?”

“He always has,” Stiles agrees. “It’s one of the things I love about him.”

“But you don’t do that.”

Stiles goes silent for a moment. “No,” he says quietly. “I don’t. I don’t like to get hurt and I don’t like to lose people, and frankly, breaking up sucks, so I’m not good at making connections in the first place.”

Cora nods against his shoulder. “Well, you’re not the only one. And sometimes you have to give people a chance. Maybe even give yourself a chance.”

“Maybe.” Stiles is saved from a response by the door bursting open. Allison is by his side, kissing him quickly, then she is nudged out of the way so Isaac can give him a hug. Scott drops into the chair Cora isn’t using, and she stays tucked in close to Stiles on the bed.

Only Derek stays separate, leaning against the wall by the door. Stiles looks at him, tries to catch his eye, but Derek is starting across the room at something Stiles can’t see, as if he’d rather be anywhere but there.

Stiles knows Cora keeps trying to tell him that Derek is _interested_ , but Stiles has no idea how to even start that conversation because it always looks to him like Derek just wants to be somewhere else.

So he lets his friends overwhelm him instead and tries not to think about the way Derek just stands there. When Stiles falls asleep, it is underneath a puppy pile of people squeezed onto his bed, and he thinks Derek might be smiling to see it. Maybe.

#

“He wasn’t bitten, Derek.”

“Have you checked?”

“If he were, do you think he’d still be in the hospital? He’s going home today, but he’s not completely healed.”

“If I were healed, I wouldn’t hurt this much,” Stiles mutters, opening his eyes slowly. “Is it Saturday morning? Am I really getting out of here?”

“You are.” Cora leans in to brush her lips against his forehead. “And you’re coming home with us. Derek, explain. I’m going to go get coffee.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her, and for the first time since the day in the park, Stiles is completely alone with Derek.

Okay, for the first time that he can _remember_ , he’s alone with Derek.

“Dude, please tell me we didn’t have any massively important conversations while I was under the influence of crazy painkillers,” Stiles says. “Because if we said significant things and I forgot them, I’m going to be really annoyed.”

“What significant things would we have said?”

“Right.” Stiles manages to get one hand under himself and wedges himself up to sitting. Derek grabs the controller for the bed and lifts the head of it a bit more, making it easier on him. “Thanks.”

Derek sets the controller down carefully. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What does Cora mean, I’m coming home with you?” Yes, maybe he changes the subject, but Stiles isn’t sure he wants to go down that road right now.

“We have room,” Derek tells him. “Not Peter’s room, not Laura’s. A guest room. It’s a mansion, by city standards. A two floor flat. We own it outright, bought it years ago when Laura and I got our hands on the insurance money. So we have room, and an elevator to get up to it, and you’re not supposed to be doing stairs until your side heals. We can help out, and your dad can stay with us when he gets here tomorrow so he won’t need a hotel.”

“What are we going to tell him?” It occurs to Stiles that his thoughts are flitting all over, and maybe he needs a little Adderall help, but he’ll deal with it for the moment. 

“About?” Derek’s brows furrow deeply.

“You,” Stiles says.

Derek’s expression goes blank. “What is there to tell him?”

Stiles puts his fingers by his mouth and growls, imitating fangs. “The part where you’re a part-time furry beast? You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to embarrass you by telling him you’re my crush. I don’t need his pity. Or yours.”

“You can tell him I’m a werewolf. We already told you that you could.” Derek gives Stiles a look. “It’s fine. We’re… we’re fine.”

Stiles isn’t sure how to take that. “We as in you and Cora, or we as in you and me?”

“I don’t know what _we_ are.” Derek points to Stiles, then himself. “ _We_ aren’t anything yet.”

“Yet.” Stiles grabs onto that word and clings. “So there’s hope that we could be _something_.”

Silence again, and Stiles doesn’t know how to break it in a sane manner, so he decides to just jump in. “Dude. Look. Cora said you’ve talked about me. That before I managed to barge into your lives and turn everything upside down, you had noticed me. In the park, I guess. Running. Watching your ass,” Stiles admits. “Because it is a really nice ass, and you’ve got great form when you’re running. So. Cora seems to think that you… that I’m not an idiot for having a crush on you. And that you don’t actually barely tolerate me, and that you might even want to keep me around. A little.”

He meets Derek’s gaze, tries to burrow through that closed off expression. “She also implied that you have walls a mile high and are afraid of being hurt. Which, given your past track record of a psychotic girlfriend, I can understand. I have issues, too. I grew up with me and my dad, and that was it. I lost my mom the same time as you lost your family, and Dad and I never had anyone else. I found Scott after that, and his mom was _like_ a mom, but that’s not the same thing. The thing is, I’ve had some pretty disastrous relationships myself, and while none of them burned my family alive, they weren’t exactly winners, either. Which is why I’ve spent a few months chasing you around the park and never actually trying to catch you.” He makes a face. “I didn’t want to get beaten up by some guy who was offended that I thought he was gay, and I didn’t want to be turned down, and _yes_ , my ego is fragile. Horribly fragile.”

“Stiles.”

He stops immediately at just the one word from Derek. “Yeah?”

“I’m taking you home with me,” Derek says quietly. “As soon as the papers are signed.” He pushes to his feet as the doctors come in, armed with clipboards and poking at the monitors to check on Stiles’s vital signs. Derek makes his way to the door, but pauses there to look back. “We’ll get coffee on the way home.”

“Coffee?”

“Coffee.”

Stiles grins. “It’s a date.” Because it’s _coffee_ and that’s a datelike thing, and besides, he sees Derek’s quick grin before ducks out.

He’s getting released from the hospital and he has a date with Derek Hale. This is a seriously good day. He’d fist pump if he didn’t think he’d end up punching a doctor in the face, and then they might not let him go and he’d miss his _date_.

Stiles sits back and answers questions and signs the papers. Anything to get out of there as quickly as he can.

#

**_Epilogue_ **

“Why are you dressing me again?” Stiles tries to glare at Cora, but it’s impossible as she goes through his closet, tossing things out and onto the floor, apparently finding nothing she likes.

“Because I didn’t have time to take you shopping, and in case you haven’t noticed, people don’t wear jeans and t-shirts to see a Broadway show.” She turns to look at him, gaze sliding over his body, and she shakes her head. “Even if they’re black jeans and a vintage _Cats_ t-shirt. _Cats_ , Stiles?”

“It’s a joke, because I’m going out with a wolf. Right?”

She fixes him with a stare and he strips it off and drops it to one side. “I thought it was funny,” he mutters.

“It was. It’s cute. But you’re not aiming for cute, you’re aiming for the male version of evening wear without going all the way to tuxedo,” Cora tells him.

“I have my work clothes.”

She shudders. “No. Definitely not. Stiles this is a big date.”

“It’s a _date_ , and Derek and I have now been dating for a _month_ ,” he points out. “We’ve been out for coffee, gone running in the park, and I have even stayed over in your apartment. Why do I need to look good tonight? You didn’t make me do anything special when we went to see that show at Madison Square Garden.”

“That was a rock concert. You were _supposed_ to wear ratty jeans and a vintage t-shirt. This is _Broadway_. The kind of thing where the girls wear dresses, unless they prefer suits, and the guys do not wear jeans.” She pushes through the closet. “Do you have a suit? A real one, I mean. With a tailored jacket that actually fits.”

“Didn’t you grow up in foster care? How did you get to be a clothes snob?” Stiles grabs her hand and tugs until she looks at him. “Seriously, you are way more worried about this than I am. We need to get you someone of your own so you’ll stop living vicariously through our chaos.”

“I’m just glad you two finally figured yourselves out.” Cora crosses her arms, looking him over again. “Okay, maybe the black jeans will work. It’s not opening night. There’s not a red carpet.”

“We are _not_ red carpet material.”

“Derek could be if he wanted to be. Oh no, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.” Cora jumps on him, hugging him hard. “I meant if he wanted to buy himself into that scene, he could. He doesn’t even need to _work_ but he does, even if he hates it. Well, he _does_ need to work, or else the money would get used up. But he could work less. Or live somewhere less nice. He could be normal if he wanted, or he could be ostentatious.”

“I’m working on the work thing,” Stiles admits. “There’s this new exhibit possibly happening at the museum, a whole history of the city thing, and I asked him to come in and talk to the curator. It’s the kind of stuff Derek loves, and I think he’d be good with it.”

“And after that exhibit’s done?”

“Then we look at something else historical. Anything that’s not crunching boring numbers in order to get by.” Stiles shrugs. “Can we find me a shirt?”

Cora goes back to pushing things aside, digging until she unearths a charcoal grey henley. Stiles remembers buying it ages ago, and thinking afterwards that it fit a little too tight. He’s used to t-shirts and loose flannel, and when he shrugs into it, this doesn’t cling like a second skin, but it’s still an awfully close fit.

“Fitted.” She grins. “Nice. Didn’t know you had something like this. Because this? This is what you should wear all the time. You look gorgeous. Hot.” She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “The guys and girls will be all over you. It’ll drive Derek nuts.”

“Which you love to do,” Stiles teases.

“He’s my brother, of course I do! But I know he loves you.”

She says it so easily, but Stiles can’t be sure. Derek’s never said it. Of course, Stiles hasn’t said it yet, either. He’s been waiting for the right moment, and after a month, he can’t be sure it’s right. They get along great, better than he expected. They are still both opening up slowly, but Stiles is figuring out who Derek is, behind the calm mask that he wears in public. And sometimes he’s managing to tease him out of his mask a little bit in front of others, too. Derek is relaxing, and Stiles is calmer himself, panicking less.

His dad visiting helped some with that; in the end, the Sheriff had chosen to stay for two weeks, until Stiles was well on the way to being fully healed. A large part of the beginning of Stiles’s relationship with Derek was conducted with the Sheriff in tow as they both showed him their city and got to know each other better along the way.

And of course, there’s Scott, and Isaac visiting almost every weekend, and Allison there often as well. Stiles hasn’t decided yet if he should start asking for rent from Allison yet, but he figures that if one more thing belonging to her shows up as a permanent _just in case_ item in their bathroom, he might just do it. Maybe _that’s_ love, no… Stiles isn’t going to try to figure them out. He’d move out, give them all more space to figure _themselves_ , but there’s nowhere else to really go.

His phone buzzes and he glances at it to see a text from Isaac. _Have fun tonight_! He sends back a smiley and lets it go.

Cora pushes her fingers through his hair, spiking it. “I think you’re presentable.”

“Thanks.” He hears voices and he laughs softly. “I feel like I’m supposed to be making an entrance.”

“Why not?” Cora pushes him towards the door. “There is nothing wrong with wowing your boyfriend once in a while.”

Stiles wasn’t nervous before Cora arrived at his apartment and pushed her way in, shoving him into his room to get changed, but now his heart is thumping a swift tattoo. This is just another night out, right? A Broadway show isn’t all that different from dinner, or a movie, or coffee, or running in the park. It’s something to go see, then they’ll end up at Derek’s apartment and he might or might not come home. And yet, she’s managed to get him all worked up and he’s smiling carefully when he walks into the living room and sees Derek and his mouth falls open.

“Damn. Dude.”

Derek’s wearing fitted slacks and a dark red shirt with a black jacket over it, and somehow it all comes together perfectly with the faint scruff over his chin and Stiles just… “Do we have to go out? Because honestly, I could just undress you right here.”

“That was out loud,” Scott reminds him.

“Completely,” Allison adds. “Very vivid imagery there.”

“I could’ve included the part about where I was thinking about licking his chest,” Stiles offers. “If you’d like a better visual.”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is firm, and Stiles looks at him, eyes wide. “Shut up.”

“Shut me up?”

And Derek does, gathering him in and nipping at his lip, tongue slipping between Stiles’s lips and ensuring that he can’t even think let alone gather words to speak. Stiles whines softly, and Derek seems to know what he wants, the kiss heating up. Stiles clings to the collar of Derek’s shirt, tucked in close with Derek’s arm firm across his back. When the kiss ends, Stiles sighs. “Seriously, dude, we do _not_ need to go out.”

The door to Scott’s room bangs shut and Cora laughs out loud when Stiles looks at the empty couch, bewildered. “ _They_ are staying in,” Stiles points out.

“We have tickets.” Derek holds them out, pulling back when Stiles grabs for them. “And it’s still a surprise.” He steps back, giving Stiles a critical once over. “Not bad. Not evening classy, but we won’t get kicked out of anywhere.”

“Have fun tonight,” Cora offers a small wave. “I will try to avoid seeing you when you get home.”

Stiles lets Derek nudge him out the door, and he manages to wait until they get down to the black car (he is _still_ not used to having livery take him everywhere he goes rather than a cab) and are tucked comfortably in the back seat before he has to ask, “What’s so special about tonight?”

Derek goes still. “Why?”

“You’re insisting we go out, Cora’s _dressing_ me, like I’m a doll.” Stiles looks at Derek. “If it were say, a year or more, I’d be half expecting a proposal by now. But it’s only been a _month_. So I don’t figure you’re…” his voice trails off at the quietly walled off expression Derek wears. “Um. Am I putting my foot in it or something?”

“I’m not going to ask you to marry me.” Derek rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who rushes into things, not me.”

“So what is it?” Because something is up, Stiles is sure of it, and whatever that something is has made Derek into the quiet beast he used to be before Stiles tamed him. Stiles doesn’t like seeing him so quiet, so cautious, not around him. “Is it something about Kate? Peter? Did you find out Allison’s really planning on stabbing me in the back in my sleep and I need to go into hiding?”

“Shut up.” Derek drags Stiles across the seat and across his lap, burying his face against Stiles’s throat. His teeth scrape lightly against skin and Stiles is reminded that while they might still have things they need to learn about each other, Derek’s penchant for scenting Stiles’s neck and Stiles’s sensitive skin are a match made in heaven. He whines softly, and the light nip turns into a long low suck of skin between teeth, leaving a small mark on his throat.

“I was going to wear a _Cats_ t-shirt, but Cora said it wasn’t appropriate. Even though it was vintage.” Stiles winds his fingers through Derek’s hair, keeping him in place. “You don’t need to stop doing that, really. I’ll talk, you nuzzle and kiss.” He moves slightly, gratified to know that it’s having as strong an effect on Derek as it is on him. “We _could_ take care of a few things in the car before we go in to the show. No one has to know.”

“The driver would know.”

“Some of those drivers have seen worse,” Stiles points out. “From us. Like two nights ago.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Derek’s hand slides down to the curve of his ass, and Stiles likes the way he squeezes.

“You keep incorriging me.” Stiles flashes a grin at the pun, and Derek groans, silencing him by claiming his mouth again, making speech impossible.

“I love you,” Derek murmurs when they finally break apart.

Stiles’s eyes go wide. “Is that what all this is about, dude? Because if tonight is declaration night, I am completely on board with confessing that I have probably been in love with you since… pretty much since you kissed me to keep Kate from killing me. But since I thought you hated me, I figured I shouldn’t say it. Now, however, if love is on the table—”

“Sofa… table… kitchen counters…” Derek murmurs with a small grin.

Stiles flushes. “Well then. I love you. Everywhere. And would be happy to show you that in the back of the car here. By any number of potential acts to express those words in silent and mouth-otherwise-occupied ways.”

Derek nudges him back just a bit, and Stiles frowns, not sure what’s happening now. Derek holds out one hand, fingers curled as if he holds something and he waits.

“What is it?” Stiles puts his hand out, palm up, and something drops into it. Small and hard and warm from Derek’s skin, the silvery key lies there against his hand. “Oh. I… oh.”

“It’s too soon.”

“Shut up.” Stiles closes his fingers, hiding the key before Derek can take it back. “You can’t change your mind now.”

“You hate living with Scott when Isaac and Allison are there,” Derek says.

“Is that the reason?”

“You lived with me for two weeks while you were recuperating.” Derek curls his fingers over where Stiles holds the key. “I lived on your couch, and I am pretty sure that I have the better place after that. It feels empty without you. I got used to you being around.”

“What about Cora?” Because Stiles would _never_ put her out. He wouldn’t dare. She’d make his life hell after.

“Already discussed, and she’s fine with it. There’s so much room she won’t even notice.”

“Except for barging into my wardrobe and dressing me,” Stiles mutters, then laughs. “So this is why tonight is so important. Not the tickets.”

“Spider-man.” Derek grins at Stiles’s expression. “Worth it?”

“And you didn’t let me go in costume? I’m insulted! I’m being a terrible fan! I could have at least worn a better t-shirt.”

“Save the superhero costume for the bedroom. I’ll let you rescue me.”

Stiles tries to kiss the wicked grin from Derek’s lips. “I’d rather tie you up in my webbing.”

“That can be discussed.”

Stiles groans at the idea of it. “If it was _anything_ but Spider-man… I’d be telling the driver to turn around right now. We are going home right after it’s done.”

He pauses then and looks at Derek, just looks and wonders if he is mirroring that exact same goofy expression because they will be going _home_. “I have to get my stuff,” Stiles says.

“Text Cora.” Derek nudges him. “She’ll take care of it. You can move in tonight.”

“Yeah. I will.” Later. He will text Cora later because right now he’s on Derek’s lap, his fingers sliding beneath the hem of Derek’s shirt, touching skin and feeling those muscles twitch. Stiles doesn’t have long before they arrive at the theater, and he doesn’t want to stop. He figures that in general, he’s got all the time in the world, but that’s not going to stop him from enjoying every single moment he’s got right now. He lets his head fall against Derek’s shoulder, feels Derek’s fingers thread through the strands. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you, too.”

And that’s all Stiles needs. It’s a long way from _the guy_ in the park, and who knows how much further the can go together. They’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.

He closes his eyes and listens to he cadence of the wheels of the car. _Going to Spider-man_ , they say, right before they whisper, _Derek loves you_.

He could listen to that all night.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)! I love to chat, so feel free to drop me an Ask.


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